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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chapi Copyright No.,J..?_-- 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






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GATHERED BY THE WAY. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 




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1895. 

THE JULES JACOBSON PUBLISHING CO. 
ST. PAUL, MINN., U. S. A. 



To 



-^^^ 



Entered nccordlng to act of Congress In the oHice of the Librarian of 
Congress at Washington, D. C, In the year 1895. 



\ 



THE PUBLISHEES TO THE PEOPLE. 



This volume contains a collection of epigra/m- 
niatical sayings, poems and prose writings that, 
mostly under the mask of fiction, convey observa- 
tions of human existence, in its various forms, to 
the reader's mind. The author claims that it is a 
kaleidoscopewhichwillfascinatefrom beginning to 
end. To philoisophers the "Birdseye vievs-'B" will be 
new. For those who wish to be ententaimed solely, 
the second part, consisting of short, well written, 
humorous and pathetic stories, will be a welcome 
gift. The lover of poetry will have, in the third 
part, a series of patriotic songs, for instance, on 
Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, etc., asad 
lyrical effi]sions, that will keep him interested, to 
say the least. The reader who wishes to know 
what treasures of literature the Germans own will 
find, in the last paort, mastierpieces of Goethe, 
Heine, Freilig.rathjOhamiisso and especially FRITZ 
REUTEE, whose humoristic works are alto- 
gether unknown to the English speaking nations. 
These translations! are nearly verbal and return the 
full sense of their originals, and will be welcoime 
to all, for reasiooos named in the introductory note 
of the author on the following page, tO' which we 
call special attention. 



INTKODUCTION. 



Gentle Reader: 

It is somewhat difficult for me to decide whether 
I have to( excuse the existence of the miscellaneous 
writings, in rhyme and prose, here following. In 
our materialistic age human kind deem it more 
expedient to listen toi the rhythms of hammer and 
anvil than to those of metrical sounds, or to an 
earnest discussion, and are only too prone to con- 
sider their producer a lily, growing idly on the 
field, (if nothing worse!) because he did not create 
something which causes them bodily comfort; aa, 
for instance, a device for raising children without 
work, or other labor-saving tools, would be. 

However, since this collection grew, as its title 
indicates, in rain and shine, as is the case with 
all literary products (i. e., that they are natives 
of brain and heart and sprout out of them, as the 
plants issue from the turf,) the pieces forming the 
same are only expected to be read by those who 
can understand the pleasure they caused me, when 
I wrote them down, in couree of my meditations 
over the occurrences of daily life, or my investi- 
gations into the past, (that real looking-glass of the 



present,) and wlio will not blame me for liaving 
spent my leisure (often caused by sickness and 
other interruptioiiis of that organ on which we 
grind for a living) on these musings. 

The translations which form the last part of this; 
volume a.re trials tO' transplant some of the most 
popular poems of the Fatherland intoi our not very 
flexible language. As I had lived in Germany to 
my fortieth year and made belle-letters a special 
study, I probably knew better than others how to 
select such pieces as deserve the difficult task of a 
translation. The reader will find among them 
some of FRITZ REUTER'S stories which, thus far, 
area hidden treasure to the English, on account of 
his dialect. * My object was to^ enable those who 
are suffering to laugh away an hour of care, in 
which this greatest of all humorists has so well suc- 
ceeded that no German household is left vnthout 
one of his books. 

.J. J. ST. PAUL. 

October, 1895. 



♦Since this was written I learned that two prose pieces of this gifted poet have 
i^Adv been translated. 



alread7 been translated. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Man in the Moon 1 

PART I. 

Birdseye Views. 

A Young Philosopher .8 

Eureka 9 

Do We Live Forever . . . ■ . . .9 

Death 10 

Land, Land . . . • 11 

Creeds 11 

Christianity 11 

Judaism . .12 

Are We Progressing 12 

Torch-Bearers 13 

The Time to Die 13 

Money-Making 13 

Indulging in Luxury 14 

A Pendant 14- 

Diversity of Man 14 

Diogenes 15 

Improve Abilities . .15 

Results of Education 16 

Communism . 16 ' 

What We Work for 16 

Children .17 

Bellamy 17 

Sports 17 

Slang in Gospel Work 18 

Negroes .18 

I)e Mortuis 18 



Property 

Woman's Right 

Noblesse Oblige 

Constitutions 

Philosophy 

Belle-Letters and Arts . . . . 
Quality of Literature .... 

Literati of America 

Artist's Life 

Schiller and Goethe 

Thomas Carlyle 

Genius 

Snowdrifts 

Evils 

Protective Policy .... 

Ireland 

Powderly, Debs, and Others 

Inner Chill 

The Pocketbook 

Second Marriage 

What Kind of People Live in the World 

Who Gets the Flour .... 

Criticisms 

Riches .... 

Hands of Fools 

Enjoyments 

Best Physic . 

Best Investment 

Universal Rule 

Upright Man 

Trust .... 

Three C's 

Matrimonial 



PART II. 



University Stories. 

The Three Slates 

Rabbi Joseph Halevy .... 
Francesco Francia . . . . 
The Goose Deal ..... 
The Student's Alter-Ego 
A Smart Client ..... 
The Penitent 



PAGE 

The Last Will of Guiseppe Bartholo . . . .58 

The Crucifix ..... . . . 61 

Nobody Escapes Azrael ...... 72 

The Legend of Alexander .... . .74 

The First Locomotive 78 

PART in. 

Poems. 

My Poems 82 

Hail America . .83 

On George Washington's Birthday . . . . 85 

Abraham Lincoln 86 

General Sherman's Death . . . . 87 

Colonel E. P. Jacobson 88 

Song of the Emigrant ... .89 

Little Violet 90 

By the Sea 90 

Verses for a Young Girl's Birthday .... 91 

The True Bard 92 

Evening Chimes ........ 93 

PART IV. 

Translations, Biographies, etc. 



Biography 103 

It is Steadily Growing Worser in the World .105 

How Didst Thou Get in 105 

The Help 106 

Reversed ......... 107 

A Little Different 108 

The Headache 108 

Reverence for His Dukeship's Coat . . • . 109 

That's Him 110 

Correct Arithmetics ....... Ill 

On What? 112 

Our Schoolman on His Books is Smart, but Willy 

Gets of Him the Start 113 

How Does This Happen . .114 

Bon Jour, Bon Jour ....... 114 

The Blind Cobbler Boy .116 

The Right One Finally Gets It 117 

Oh, Joching Pass, Thou Art a Capital A.ss . . 118 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Graves on the Lawn ...... 123 



Biography 125 

Pilgrimage to Kevlar .... 126 

Napoleon's Grenadiers ....... 129 

By the Sea 130 

Lotus Flower 131 

Fisher Maiden 131 

On a Love Song's Wings 132 

Thou Art Like a Floweret 133 



Biography 134 

Pupil of Magic 136 

Found in the Woods 139 

The Wandering Bell 140 

FRKII.IGRATH. 

Biography ........ 141 

The Revenge of the Flowers .... . 142 

The Lion's Ride 145 

CHAMISSO. 

Biography 148 

Woman's Love and Life .150 

Faust 158 

Miscellaneous. 

La Hate 172 

The Open Window 172 

Herrn A. Steinlein 173 

Bin TrilDut 174 



THE MAN IN THE MOON. 
I. 

Who of ye, my esteemed readers, did not al- 
ready have an opportunity to see, on some bright 
evening, the man in the moon look down on him, 
and to notice what singular features his face has, 
how he keeps his right eye wide open, while his 
left one is tightly shut ; and how distorted his lips 
are, as though they Avere moved by some kind of an 
ironical laugh ? But have ye ever thought it worth 
your while to ask why it has this peculiar expres- 
sion? 

I do not believe ye have, but I did, when one sum- 
mer night I was up late and wandered through 
the valley, where the small town I lived in lay 
enwrapped in a mantle of green trees an,d shrubs, 
that I might enjoy the invigorating fragrance of 
the vegetation and view the fine landscape, at this 
unusual hour. 

As every living thing, except the moon-man and 
myself, had gone to sleep, and it was very quiet 



_; GATHKKKI) IIY THK WAY. 

around me, I listened atlentively, and could hear 
the companion of my ui}>lit ramble talk; and, upon 
my question what caused him to make such a 
Avry f;ice, he answered very civilly; and ye now 
shall also hear Avhat he had to remark: 

"I have been making these spherical journeys 
about the earth, on which ye human beings live in 
such great numbers, since many, many a night, 
have seen, year after yeai", her seasons change, 
Avinter go by, spring begin, summer witli its ripen- 
ing power leave, fall with its wealth of fruit ar- 
rive, and the harvesting croAvds gather in the 
plentj' Providence has sent them, and I often 
thought how happy man could be if he only knew 
better how to govern his passions, if he had a 
grain of love, an ounce ot common-sense, and two 
or more ounces of good behavior in him. Then 
there would be found very few suffering people on 
this planet of yours, and, instead of being a valley 
of sorroAV, as the people call it, it would be a gar- 
den of roses, wherein human kind could live as 
peaceably with each other as your great-great- 
grandparents, Adam and Eve, used to live in Par- 
adise, before the snake of Greed and Envy had 
moved their innocent souls to do evil. 

"But in plaice of love, reason, and good manners, 
Avhat, mj- mortal friend, must I see go on, on earth? 
Instead that man should remember that, after all, 
the richest born has only a short life before him, 
of which half is spent beforehand to prepare him 
for it, and the other half in sickness and work, 
and that he, like his compeer, the beggar, must 
soon sink into the grave, leaving everything to 
others; that he has only one stomach which he 
dares not fill with too manv delicacies without 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. d 

hui-ting his health; that he, at the higheist, can 
■wear one suit of clothes in the siimmei' and two 
in the winter, just like his poorer brothers — I see 
him act like a wild lion, or a cunning fox, or some- 
times like both, as though he should starve the 
next hour if not imitating them. 

"Envious, quaiu'elsome and violent, he cannot 
rest as long as he sees his neighbors eat their food 
in peace, and were it the most humble existence the 
latter lead. He begrudges and disturbs their small 
enjoyments and tries to set himself into possession 
of them, often giving up (like that dog in Aesop's 
Fable who, seeing the piece of meat he bore in his 
mouth reflected in the water, snapped at it, and 
lost both) for imagined wealth the good he has, 
and believing himself bedded on thorns, while 
others sleep on roses. 

"Greed of gain and egotism, the never-djdug Hy- 
di'as' of man's life, do not permit him even to rest at 
night, while I am shining on him and watching foi' 
his safet}', — but cause him to invent schemes, by 
which he migJit defraud others, or tear the piece 
of bread he sees them eat from their mouth; thus; 
changing his night into day, making him get up 
next day with a heaidache and uuable to enjoy 
wliait he could, if he remained well. 

"When, I look at these things going on the whole 
year around, century after century, see the teach- 
ings of the wise men unnoticed, nay, shunned, and 
these persons sometimes even crucified, — ^and the 
existing silliness bequeathed from father to sion, 
from son to grandchild, with an astounding per- 
severance, and, at the same time, find that animals 
can be tamed while man cannot, — I often think 
this species of fork-shaped beings, on whom the 



4 GATHERED BY THE WAV. 

Lord, ill preferoioe to other mortal creatures, has 
bestowed an exquisite physique, by letting him 
■walk upright on a flat foot, and thus enabling him 
to stand sure, while at work; — by giving him a 
line-foraicd hand to use it at his convenience; — 
and by oiidow'ing him with that miracle of all mir- 
acles, "Speech," the most precious of all human 
treasurers, by which he so easily can communicate 
his tiioughts to others of his kind; — and by many 
other valuable qualities of body and mind, rivaling 
with those of angels even; — I often think, I say, 
that man has become splenetic and ought to be put 
into an insane asylum, if such a stupendous house 
for fools could be built, or that the very best Provi- 
dence could do would be to send a Deluvia, like 
the one the Old Testament reports, or other means 
of destruction, in oi-der to regenerate him, and let 
him learn to appreciate all the good She has given 
him, and force him to forego the acts of panthers, 
hyenas, bears and wolves, to which he is so much 
inclined. This is the reason, thou earth-born, who 
watchest me so late at night, and lookst uj) to 
me so inquisitively, why I gaze at ye, folks, with 
such a scornful laugh, as long as ye have known 
me. I should rather weep^ but I know it would 
avail nothing. 

"I hope, that thou, at least, wilt profit by this 
conversation, wilt be wiser in future and grateful 
to God for his great mercy. I am afraid, though, 
thou wouldst then be an exception, and thiat the 
rest of the world will remain as stupid as they 
were in the past, and will continue to do evil; 
and that I shall have to look down for a long time 
yet and laugh at their follies, until some one, sim- 
ilar to thee, comes and asks me the same quea- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 



tion, and hereupon I sluall i"elax once more and 
haA^'e sncli am agreeable talk a® I just had with 
thine esteemed pers'on. And now, good-bye, my 
friend. I advise thiee, go to bed, sleep soundly 
and without dreams, and, when thou getst up to- 
morrow, make a note of what I have told thee. It 
may do some good, if others read it; and, if thou 
wishest to know more about the doings of men, 
come to me some other time." 

After tlie man in the moon had spoken this, he 
retired behind the curtain of his cloud-chamber, 
leaving me to myself, to meditate over the strange 
encounter. I then went home, slept, and next 
morning, I wrote down what I could remember of 
his words. 



II. 



The pleasant conversation I had with him in- 
duced me to a, second trial to meet my lunar friend, 
and thus, two months or so la tea-, having an idle 
Saturday to dispose of, I stayed up late, anxious 
to know what the moon-man had alluded to when 
cldsing his lirst speech. The night was not as clear 
ais the one wherein I saw him before, and his coun- 
tenance looked somewhat yellowish; so I thought, 
he Av^ould ]iot be as communicative as in the former, 
but in this I wais niisitaken. He said that the 
weather was very changeable of late and he had 
caught a cold, as dust-created beings sometimes 
do; nevertheless he would speak to me, though his 
voice might sound somewhat hoarse. I asked him, 
what more he could say about the wickedness of 
the world, and also remarked that he seemed pes- 
simistic, as I know, among mine own acquaintan- 



C) GATHKKKD HY THE WAV. 

res, people who acted far better than he h.id de- 
scribed man to me. Hereupon he replied : "I have 
been aware of the fact that here and there a con- 
scientious one is born, but the jji-eat majoritj' fol- 
low the Avaj's of the sister-cities of old. I have been, 
mj-self, sometimes puzzled, and became desiiH)us to 
get nearer to facts ; so' I once prayed to the Lord of 
CreatioB to change me for a time into one of the 
human bodies, as other heavenly Beings had 
been before, and let me live its life, enjoy its 
joys and suffer its sufferings. This God granted, 
and thus, one day, I was born the child of a mer- 
chant in a town not far fix)m New York City. 
This happened about ten to twelve years after the 
battle of 'Waterloo. I remember my dear mother, 
who died very young, to have been a pale-com- 
plected, blue-eyed lady, with flaxen hair, altogether 
an Anglo-Saxon beauty. I was the youngest of 
five boys, somewhat feeble but otherwise remark- 
ably, precocious. Thus, for instance, I knew to 
read at three, and at six I was so efficient in Al- 
gebra that my teacher gave up his lessons. One 
feat of my memory w^1s, especially, noteworthy. 
If one. of my parents put the finger on a page of tha 
Bible, I could tell all the verses on the following 
ones that were under the same spot. Thus I was 
exhibited as a prodigy to all our neighbors, and 
even people from Boston came to see this perfomi- 
ance. But I knew nothing of my prenatal exist- 
ence, until I was dead, and restored to my heaven- 
ly life. 

"In this period, which lasted somewhat like fifty- 
five years, I have been driven around among mortal 
men of all classes and besides other little things, 
that may deserve penisal, I wrote down my miscel- 



GATHERED liV THE WAY. ( 

laneous observations of their life and manners 
with tlie intention to publish a volume before my 
death; but I vpas suddenly talien off by one of those 
too frequent railroad accidents in the United 
States, and having reassumed my lunar existence, 
my plan did not materialize. I kept, however, the 
roll of paper, and if thou vnlt agree to bring its 
contents before the public, thou shalt have the 
privilege of treating it as thine ow^n." 

I thanked the man of the moon for his great kind- 
ness, and said I would have it printed with the 
speech he gave me at our first meeting; upon 
which 1 saw a white scroll come down slowly over 
me, until my right hand could reach it; and, hav- 
ing secured it, I went home, read it and now do 
as I agreed. 



What the rnoDU man says iu his day book : 



FIRST PART. 



BIRDSEYE VIEWS. 



A YOUNG PHILOSOPHEK. 

I often meditate over the uselessness of our 
higher endeavors, Avheu seeing how little the 
chances in life are according to justice, the fools 
and scoundrels enjoying the apples of Paradise, 
while the wise gnaw dry crumbs of bread to quiet 
their hunger, and are exposed to hardships the 
average mortal does not know of, Nature seems 
altogether to ignore character in single individu- 
als, and to want him to live his diurnal part of 
animal life with the daily motion of Mother Earth 
around her axis. This reminds me of a little niece 
I had that was a bom philosopher, and of her con- 
versation with mine old, venerable mother: Gran- 
ny, said the child, one day, to her, what kind of a 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 9 

buisiness is this? We get up early, at seven o'clock, 
breakfast, and then papa goes to his office, to cornel 
back at twelve, when we dine; after which he lies 
down for a nap, to leave an hour later. He then 
returns at six, takes his supper, reads papers, and 
retires at nine or ten, to begin the same thing oveil 
again the next moiTiing; and thus it goes on the 
whole year. 

The very question I have often asked myself, but, 
indeed, children and fools expect an answer! 

EUREKA. 

What follows will probably offend the optimists, 
but the truth of it cannot be doubted. Has not 
Voltaire offered half his immortality for a good di- 
gestion, and should not we also have the same de- 
sire? 

I think human kind is not advancing in civiliza- 
tion because there is such a small number of wise 
men existing, and these few appear to have no suc- 
cess in matters of daily life. All the great think- 
ers, from Socrates down, drank the cup of suffering, 
and were poor. I was theref one on the lookout for 
a prototype of happiness, but could not find it 
among the genus homo; till once, on a hot Sum- 
mer-day, when doing some garden-work in front of 
my house, I saw a mule standing in the scorching 
sun, near my fence, chewing straw: "Eureka," I 
ejaculated. "A isitomach to digest the coarsest food, 
aa epidermis proof against rain and shine, and the 
small brain, not exerting itself about matters of 
higher life — is vs^hat makes existence tolerable." 

DO WE LIVE FOREVER? 

We were young and grew old and shall die, and 
rest in the turf, under the blue tent of Heaven, 



10 G.VTIIICKEI) UY THK WAV. 

golden rays and green trees, with merry birds in 
their branches, above us. We shall lie in that 
great sarcophagus in which the princes, prophets, 
poets iiud other great and wise men of all ages, lay 
down for an undisturbed rest. But shall we then 
hear the voices of our beloved ones, left to tears 
and mourning over our departure? Shall we tlien 
feel the warm touch of their lips? Life is sweet 
and desirable if the crown of Love and Tenderness 
adorn it. 

What is love? Can materialism persuade us that 
it is a motion of our organism caused, by the inner 
heat of the planet on which we live? We may 
readily admit all the agniostics say regarding our 
future existence; still there is something left to 
contradict our absolute annihilation, especially of 
the feeling towards those who are connected with 
us by ties unbreakable. We therefore claim: 
"Death cannot terminate our being forever, and 
love will outlast our life." 

DEATH. 

In presence of the dead, we repeat the old ques- 
tion : Can their life end with their burial? Shall 
that face that smiled on us but yesterday, those 
pressing arms that embraced us so tenderly, that 
warm lip that kissed our forehead so lovingly, be 
silent forever, and shall all this only be a transient 
dreain that offered us rest and recreation for a 
while, to disappear with Life's last beam? No, no, 
all the contrary arguments notwithstanding, our 
being does not end here; — this immortal spark in 
ourselves called "Love" cannot be erased by the 
relentless tyrant "Death," soft as our sleep ever 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 11 

may be, among the beautiful beings surrounding 
the scene of our graveyards. 

LAND, LAND! 

We need religion, but not the one orthodoxy per- 
sists in preaching. They scatter a pile of matter 
with a fe^v kei'nels of gold between it. Sensible 
preachers avoid the repetition of the miany mira- 
cles repoi'ted, as there are people who doubt their 
reality. But our lives cannot be useless; the ques- 
tions Whence? Where? Whither? will renew 
themselves, like the heads of the amciemt Hydra 
that could not be killed. As fair ais we know, we 
stait towards the goal, not conscious of its real na- 
ture,, and all our endeavors iseem to be a modus 
opeirandi only, by which we ti'y to amiive at some 
Utopia — ^and, like our great Ohr-istopher, let us sail 
on, until either we or our posterity can hail: 
"Land, La.nd!" 

CKEEDS. 

It seems to us a deprivation of their natural 
rights to educate one's posterity in a religion in- 
herited from our forefathers. It ought to be suf- 
ficient to plant into the heart of the young a gen- 
eral understanding of morals, and leave the de- 
cision as to which church they wish to belong ex- 
clusively to themselves, until they are able to- se- 
lect one. The automatical learning of ceremonies 
produces only a liypocrisy or indifference, bringing 
forth that state of affairs which is more of a con- 
ventional lie than an inner conviction. 

CHKISTIANITY, 

The principles advanced in the New Testament 
are the highest precepts the mind of man ever pro- 



i^ GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

duced, but their realization borders on impossibil- 
ity, — a fact sincere man cannot deny. All our com- 
mandments aa'e the product of necessity, and most- 
ly embraced in Avhat we call Koman, Mosaic or 
Common Law, and enthusiasm is, and ought to be^ 
excluded from every-day existence. 

All creeds seem to contain enough of the moral 
to produce good citizenship, which is all we can 
demand. We need no Don Quixotes in human so- 
ciety, they are a nuisance. 

JUDAISM. 

We find the English-speaking nations know nO' 
distinction between Jews that come from the West- 
ern part of Europe and those from the East. A 
Russian Hebrew, and the French and German are 
in their education 'as far apart as the population oil 
their respective countries is. This shows, that it is 
never a race which is wicked, but climate, soil, and 
especially govemmeint, produce a good or evil man.^ 

AliE WE PROGRESSING? 

We do not deny we made headway in civiliza- 
tion. Our progi'ess in mechanical devices, as they 
were suggested by old Bacon, and his followers, is 
something remarkable, and life has become easier 
for the frailer race now inhabiting the globe. It 
hardly counterbalances, however, the wonderful 
achievements of the ancients, which we find scat- 
tered all over the world; nor can we even boast 
the arts the Middle-Ages produced. With all our 
accomplishments, we have not attained perfection 
in the single individual, but made existence some- 
what more tolerable for the masses, which we may 
consider a step forward in the right direction. 



gathi-;ki-;u hv tui-; wav. !-> 

TOIICH-BEAKEKS. 

A feAV there are who swing the oriflamme of cul- 
ture and show it to the many. The latter have 
no time for it; they must eat, drink, amuse them- 
selves, and die. The work of the sage and gentle 
is neither noticed, nor appreciated. There lives, 
hoAvever, here and there, a wight on a small com- 
petence, who reads tomes in the manner noble 
Longfellow describes in the "Belfry of Bruges." 
Tliese flag-bearers recognize the merits of those 
who acted before their time, and show their images 
to the present generation; thus upholding those 
principles which are a heritage of humanity, and 
can never be lost to them, altogether, notwith- 
standing the indifference of the crowd. 

THE TIME TO DIE. 
When we grow old and look around us, we find 
things greatly changed; the old are dead, and the 
young do not understand us. Matters which com- 
menced with us are finished, and the artisans who 
reared the edifices are no more. Why then linger 
here among strangers? We believe we have be- 
come obsolete, as some members of organisms, ac- 
cording to Darwin. The best therefore we can do 
is to Avrap ourselves into the mantle of forgetf ul- 
ness, the Greeks used to call Lethe, and lie down 
for an undisturbed sleep. 

MONEY-MAKING. 

The increase of our worldly poissiessions takes up, 
nowadays, all our attention. Mankind gamble, lie, 
steal, bankrupt, burn, and do all kiiids of crooked 
work to acquire them. The more they have, the 
more they want, but their faces grow longer and 
paler at the same time. This reminds us of 



14- GATHEREIJ UY THE WAY. 

Horace's "Parturiunt monies, nascitur ridiculus 
raus." For this short ]ifo-time, so much of trou- 
ble and worry. 

INDULGING IN LUXURY. 

It is a sign of recklessness to indulge in luxuries 
of all kinds, for instance, champagne-driaking, a 
fine cuisine, dressing in silk, -walking on flowers, 
and many more of suclnsnperfluitie.s, while our fel- 
lownien have no place to lay their heads upon, at 
night, and no coin for a meal, and our widows and 
orphans starve and freeze. It would seem an addi- 
tion to human progress if laws could be made to 
prohibit such customs, so that the poor oould re- 
ceive a share of the world's gifts. As long as Leg- 
islation cannot make laws like these, the wise 
ought to confine themselves and their families to 
the most economical style of living agreeing with 
health and comfort. This would mean a realiza- 
tion of the Biblical command: "Thou shalt love 
thy neighbor as thyself." 

A PENDANT. 

Were I a sculptor, I would form two figures with 
my chisel ; one representing Niotoe, surrounded by 
her prostrate children, with the inscription on her 
pe<lestal: "Christian Love" ; the other would be 
a Hercules swinging his club, and on it I should 
inscribe: "The Fittest." 

DIVERSITY OF MAN. 

Foiir kinds of men travel over life's thorough- 
fare: 

A. The bad fool. 

B. The good fool. 

C. The prudent and good man. 



OATHEKEU BV THE WAY. 15 

D. The smart and bad one. 

A is a total failure, and dies in the penitentiary; 
B, in the poorhouse; C is getting along fairly, and 
dies as he was born, poor or rich; D enjoys Para- 
dise on Earth already. 

DIOGENES. 

This. Greek walked with a lantern by daytime to 
find an honest man, but he was a preacher in the 
wilderness, and found none; nor could he today. 
Self-preservation has assumed with us monstrous 
proportions, and winds its net, spider-like, around 
humanity, leaving nothing but rich and poor. It 
is the very Promethean vulture eating our liver! 
The morsels the wealthy offer to the needy, by 
forming relief -societies, are more of an offense than 
a benefit, and the queerest thing is, they become the 
dupes of professional beggars, while the deserving 
poor go away empty-handed. 

We should form associations to unlearn the 
shameful ai-t of using our wealth for an increase of 
it, when the poor man needs our assistance. Our 
speculation oin the labor of the small merchant 
and mechanic should be abolished. By this, we 
could easily approach that state of which we 
dream, and call it civilization. 

IMPPOVE ABILITIES. 
The struggle for an existence has always been 
severe ; if Empires were not at war with each other, 
individuals were. Science has vainly tried to 
equalize wealth, and it is to be feared that this 
state of affairs will last, or even become more 
serious. The individual can only avoid the worst 
suffering, under this cointinuance of care and 
worry, by improving his own and his children's 



1(> GATHERED IIV THE WAY. 

abilities; thus preparing; for all changes that may 
occur in the future; these endowments to be men- 
tal as well as physical. 

EESULTS OF EDUCATION. 

As much as we have observed, education does 
not contribute much to change character. There 
are more inborn qualities in man than our school- 
wisdom dreams of. The lion produces no lamb, 
and the sheep no whelp, — that is the rule. When 
we grow old, we usually find our own inclinations 
repeated in our children. Let us be lambs our- 
selves, or our lessons will be thrown on the street. 

COMMUNISM. 

The first Christians were Communists. Modern 
feeling is against it, however, because it enhances 
idleness in single individuals, as practice has suifi- 
oiently demonstrated. Still it remains our duty to 
identify ourselves with the needy. Elector Fred- 
erick of Brandenburg used to say: "When your 
neighbor's barn is on fire, it is time to put out the 
flames." Enlightened governments try to help the 
laboring class by providing small competences and 
shelter for them if they grow old and helpless, and 
for their families if they die young. This system 
ought to be adopted by all bodies-politic, so as to 
deserve the beautiful epithet: "Fatherland." 

WHAT WE WORK FOE. 

The beginning and end of human wisdom should 
be the felicity of the masses. Human progress 
does not mean the welfare of the few, but the hap- 
pineiss of the majority of people. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 17 

CHILDKEN. 

The llomans had remarkable laws regarding 
children, worth our emulation. Pliny begs Caesar 
to free his private secretary and friend from tax- 
paying, by bestowing on him the right of Trium 
Infantum, so that Suetooius might be able to write 
his books in peace. In modern times, the abomina- 
tion of sacrificdng to Moloch has assumed mon- 
strous j)ropoi'tions, so that one imagines himself 
living in Rome at the beginning of the Christian 
era. We shall soon have to make Eoman laws in 
order to become truly religious. 

BELLAMY. 

The last much-read novel of this gifted auflior 
contains some very interesting remarks regarding 
those who rear a family. As though it were not 
troublesome enough for a poior woman to pass 
sleepless nights in ordeir to preserve her offspring! 

Has legislation no power to repay the burden of 
parents, and shall the production of man become 
a punishment to the producer? The advocates of 
childlessness ought to remember that they would 
not exist but for parental caiPe. 

SPORTS. 

The land is full of sports as soon as spring be- 
gins. We see everywhere, horse-races, regattas, 
ball-playing, boxing, wrestling, fencing, cock-fight- 
ing, and many gymnastical enjoyments of the most 
cruel kind, often terminating in blood, and with 
the advancing time, the Esau of old gets fiercer and 
fiercer. And herewith is connected that mental 
sport which is nearly as bad, nay, far worse than 
the principal sin: It is called betting. I do not 



18 GATHKRED BY THE WAY. 

know wbether the ancient Hebrew people knew 
what betting was. If they had known this mod- 
ern suicide, Moses w'onld have made eleven com- 
mandments instead of ten, and the eleventh would 
read: "Thou shalt not bet." 

SLANG IN GOSPEL WORK. 

The edification of the crowd by slang is work 
that destroys on one side Avhat it builds up on the 
other. Such is done by our modern apostles, Sam 
Small and Sam Jones. We are inclined to call 
them pugilists in the arena of the Christian church. 
"What fools these moi"t.als be!" 

NEGROES. 

The claim that tlie NegTO cannot be civilized, 
is an error or a malice. I have met with some su- 
perior, in mental and moral endowments, to an 
average Irish, Polish, Canadian, or other man. 
This is a new^ proof, that it is not the inborn dis- 
qualification of a cea'tain species, but the degrading 
influence of the lands in which people live, that pro- 
duces the fool and the wicked. 

DE MORTUIS. 

We do not wish to be blamed for impiety when 
speaking of the departed. The people of America 
fought two great wars that will 'make them im- 
mortal. The liberating of the negro, however, ex- 
eels the war of the Revolution, because of its cos- 
mopolitan character, and its having wrested the 
sword from the fist of the mighty, and disabled him 
forever to enslave his brother. But why the Gov- 
ernment allowed the tigers who headed the lasting 
disgrace to live peacably within its borders, those 
who have lost relatives in the bloody struggle can- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 19 

not well comprehend. It is a curious enough spec- 
tacle to see a single individual oppose the whole 
moral w^ovld, that had decided this question be- 
forehand, and rather let the blood-cemented Union 
be rent asunder than yield to common sense. The 
only fit place for this man %vas England, that made 
hersielf his acoomplice, and where his friend Judah 
Benjamin found shelter. Such generosity seems, 
absurd, and to be a weakness, opening the road to 
new sins. But be this as it may: "An eternal 
bliss in Heaven for Thee, immcrtal champion of 
human Freedom, Thou noble soul, Abraham Lin- 
coln."' 

PROPEETY. 

It is curious to see how much the doctors of 
jurisprudence exert themselves to give the owner- 
ship of property a solid foundation, but it is in 
vain to demonstrate to the young disciple the real- 
ity of the so-called natural right. There remains 
nothing but labor to perpetuate possession, and 
other claims disappear before the digjiocting power 
of tlie brain, as mists before the sun. The Social- 
ists know only too w^ell, that force alone, fur- 
nished by society, can make wealth last on one side, 
and poverty on the other. Unluckily, our educa- 
tion, in school and at home, is only too much 
adapted to teach how to take advantage of those 
who are poor. Hoav little, for instance, does a 
child know what interest is ; it takes quite a while 
to make him understand its nature. If we could 
omit some arithmetic in our schools, and insert, 
instead of it, natural science, history, geography, 
and gymnastics, all of which we neglect, we would 
produce a posterity bodily strong and mentally 



20 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

noble, or, as the IJomans used to say : Mens sana iu 
corpore sano. 

WOMAN'S RIGHT. 

Women have just as good a right to professions 
as men, but whether it benefits society to see the 
weaker sex assume the place of the stronger, and 
reduce the male to the duties of the female, is an- 
other question. It is odd to see a man rock a 
baby, while madame is Avriting a deed for a piece 
of laud. However, where a woman wishes to re- 
main single, or has become a widow, she ought to 
be on equal terms Avith the man. She must, there- 
fore, learn to handle business matters rightly, in 
order to be able to support hei'self if forced to it, 
otherwise lier duty is to be a good housewife, and 
leave trade to her husband. 

NOBLESSE OBLIGE. 

Newspapers have assumed a great power in the 
world, but the adage of old is still correct. Every 
contribution to enlighten the public, especially per- 
taining to the lot of the poor, should be welcome. 
At the same time, editors ought to be careful not 
to create jealousy ot exaggerate, a. sin they commit 
continually. If Dante were to finish his Divina 
Commedia to-day, he would make a special bolge 
in Inferno, where punishment would be applied to 
sinners by the pen. An ablution with ink would 
be the thing to make the Devil appear externjally 
what he is internally. 

CONSTITUTIONS. 

It is righrt; to be enthusiastic ajbout one's Father- 
lajnd. I know the Czar's subjects love Russia as 
much as Prussians and Yankees love their coun- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 21 

try. But wide-awake men look ait all things with- 
out prejudice. The Earth is not a garden of roiseSj 
but countries are governed worse or better, and 
produce a state of affairs where man can live a vItj 
tuous life, or vice-versa,. We prefer a constitu- 
tional monarchy and compare it with a republic 
about as follows : 

The first one is like a span of horses hitched to 
a wagon that has a tongue, to which they are at- 
tached, thus forcing them to propel the vehicle 
as soon as they pull, whatever their differences 
may be. The republic may be compared to a span 
of horses attached toi a wagon where the tongue is 
missing; the steeds do not agree, and are not suf- 
ficiently held together by a mediating power; and 
thus the wagon is very easily brought to a stop. 

I have lived under both forms of Government 
a long period, and close observation seems to jus- 
tify this comparison, as not being a mere specula- 
tion.* 

PHILOSOPHY. 

Kenan says, man is admirable, because, amid 
hard struggles for an existence, and other un- 
avoidable trials of human life, he finds time for 
transcendental matters. And this is very true! 
All our endeavors in philosophy centre in the de- 
sire to discover the full nature of the plan of the 
Universe, and how we can connect our individual 
being with it, so as toi act in harmony with the de- 
signs of a Heavenly power, Avhatever this may be. 
But the road tO' accomplish this laudable object, 
how difficult! We must admire the ideas of the 

*L Wish to state that I po not atcree with my Heavenly patron here. I presume 
he was led to an opinion of this kind by the silly acta of Congress In the important 
questions of abolishing the silver purchases and lowering the tariff. In monarchial 
lands an appeal to the people could have been taken by the executive, through a 
dissolution of parliament. As it is, it took fully two years sor the suffering trade 
to recuperate. 



-- GATHERKI) IIV THE WAY. 

great thinkers, who devote their time and ener- 
gies to it, but verj- small, alas, is the rewult of 
their investigations. All we know is that we live 
in space and time a short day, and that we must 
improve our own and our neighbors' existence, aind 
that it is a sin to be careless about things that sur- 
round us. But how and to Av hat end? Who dares 
to answer these puzzling questions? 

BELLE-LETTEKS AND ARTS. 

Sincerity of sentiment, and its expression in ad- 
equate terms, is real literature. Every superflu- 
ous woiitl must be avoided in a work that wishes to 
deserve this epithet. 

The selection of the worthiest objects environ- 
ing us, and their reproduction in a, striking man- 
ner by speech, musical sounds, paiut, marble, and 
so forth, constitute art, and are the ladder to per- 
fection. 

QUALITY OF LITERATURE. 

Some writers need half a life-time to produce a 
book; others can write one every six months. 
Thus the eagle and lion produce only one or two 
young, while hogs have them by the dozen. 

LITERATI OF AMERICA. 

The realistic is the main feature of our litera- 
ture, in contrast with most of the writings of our 
European brethren; some few excepted, who held a 
looking-glass before Nature. 

The newness of objects in the vast land, unadul- 
terated by human art and culture, made imagina- 
tion I'eturu to her sources and drink thereof; hence 
this grasp into the Natural, and the singular, sur- 
prising minuteness in details. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. ^o 

ARTIST'S LIFE. 

We are too much inclined to criticise other peo- 
ple, but chiefly the conspicuous person who calls 
himself an artist. And, indeed, there is some jus- 
tice in tliat. Persons who have the ambition to 
be known by their fellowmen and spoken of, ought 
to try to be examples; but this is very often neg- 
lected, and sin looks twice as ugly when the mask 
of obscurity is thrown aside. 

SOHILLEK AND GOETHE. 

When young, Ave were pondering over a single 
sentence of these great writers, until impregnated 
with its meaning. For young people, Schiller, the 
prince of all poets, has that fascination which cre- 
ates am enthusiasm, lasting when age makes the 
brain large and cripples the heart. His idealism, 
his earnestness in matters where human freedom 
is concea'ned, have a power to excite imitation, un- 
equalled by any writer of ftlden and newer times. 
It was his good luck that he died comparatively 
young, as he wais poor aud not very provident, 
which we can motice when visiting his death-cham- 
ber at Weimar, and he hardly could have under- 
gone the change that accompanies the growing ac- 
quaintance with matters of daily life without find- 
ing them deti-imental to his art. Of a different cast 
was Goethe. His understanding of real existence, 
coupled with a wonderful ability to depict inci- 
dents of it and idealize them, according to his fan- 
cy; his skepticism in matters superhuman; his 
investigations in things natural, — all this, coupled 
with the gift to enjoy or despise life alternately, 
makes him a prototype of human happiness, as far 
as such can be the case with our frail race. 



2-t GATHERED HY TIIK WAY. 

THOMAS CAliLYLE. 

His work looks, at the first glance, like a heap oD 
waste-paper. Stir in it and yon will find dia- 
monds. 

GENIUS. 

The products of the artists are the single mani- 
festations of the Universal and the Eternal. They 
form a. long line of links, belonging to a chain, that 
extends through space and time. These links, 
stronger and weaker, just as chance produces 
theiu, are the world of the Ideal among the com- 
monplace things of e^v'^ei-yday life. 

SNOWDKIFTS. 
They appear toi us like the romantic past, i^our- 
ing down from the Heaven of our memory on the 
muddy turnpike of our daily life. 

The flakes fall and fall, imtil the gray surface of 
our old age is covered, with the snow-white ideals 
of our earlier days. 

EVILS. 

It seems we get free of small evils by the progress 
in the invention of means to facilitate work, and 
thus making duty more pleasant, — but alas, the 
old evil — "Life" — continues. 

PHOTECTIVE POLICY. 
A vast country, with an abundance of products; 
a wealth of mines, unparalleled in the world; im- 
mense machinery to develop all this, — ^and still 
]a.bor to be protected? Who can understand it? 
Wo do not. 

IKE LAND. 

GlaiLstone has become the champion of the 
Irish race. The motto of this seems to be: "Through 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. ^O 

freedom to civilization." So it is demoiistrated 
over again that the brain of the scholar is the Re- 
deemer of the World. 

POWDERLY, DEBS, AND OTHERS. 

Theseagitators remind us of the wizard's appren- 
tice who incited the ghosts tO' work for him, but 
did not understand how to banish them back into 
their lifeless state when they became too turbu- 
lent.* 

INNER CHILL. 

We meet people who are always gentle and who 
treat their fellow-beings as their equals. The ma- 
jority of men, however, cainnat smile, or can only do 
so if they think they will be paid for it. This goes 
to show that they are unable to love anybody but 
themselves. 

THE POCKETBOOK. 

Soul and body are sometimes paralyzed, but 
when apoplexy reaches our porte-monnaie, we suf- 
fer most; nor does credit cure, but only extends 
the evil. 

SECOND MARRIAGE. 

To repeat the amiable follies of youth in older 
days, by marrying again, is to advertise one's dis- 
ability to distinguish between the seasons. 

WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE LIVE IN THE 
WORLD. 

Human society consists of fools and rascals, with 
a sprinkling of wise men, who have great trouble 
to get along with them. 

*See Goethe's Puptl of Magic, in this volume. 



20 GATHERED BY THK WAV. 

WHO GETS THE FLOUK? 

The ass, who carries the wheat, never gets it. 

CRITICISMS. 

Do not judge of others before you are seventy- 
one. 

RICHES. 
The trip to become a rich man is over a rough 
roaJ. 

HANDS OF FOOLS. 

Hands of fools soil tables and walls, says a Ger- 
man proverb. 

ENJOYMENTS. 

Between Birth and Death, we walk, so to say, 
on a rope, liable to drop every moment into the 
abyss. And still we cling to pleasure, forgetting 
uur danger. Life is the very somnambulism. 
Those who know it are, therefore, religiously in- 
clined; thus trv'ing to escape tlie uncertainty by 
ceremonies and prayers; and who can blame them 
for it? 

BEST PHYSIC. 

With labor, temperance and rest, 
Thou art the doctor's rarest guest. 

BEST INVESTMENT. 

W'ell bred children we believe to be the best 
investment of man's earnings. 

UNIVERSAL RULE. 

The patient ass 
Eats oats and grass; 
The noble steed 
Must starve and bleed. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. J( 

UPRIGHT MA^^. 
A squaro man, with simple ideas and love of 
truth, seems lik« one who walks straight among 
the lame. The latter think their manner of prom- 
enading correct, and carry oe a steady waorfare 
against the healthy ome; and nothing will make 
them believe that they are the ones who are limp- 
ing. 

TRUST. 

Some people live high, claiming man lives but 
once, but, when they have worn out their pocket- 
books, they say they are victims of hard times. 
Do not trust them. 

"THREE C'S." 

Keep off cards, cocktails and crowds. 
By the first ye'll soon be known. 
By Number two, on a dung-hill thrown, 
By Number three, to atoms blown. 

MATRIMONIAL. 

Dead husbands hardly '11 have to wait, 
When knocking at St. Peter's gatej 
For suff'rings in wedlock 
Open the Eden's padlock. 



PREFACE. 

Wlien I studied at Leipzig, a few friends of mine 
and myself formed a literary circle, which met 
every Saturday, to spend the evening together, 
exchange news, and read; and it was a rule that 
every member of the club had to contribute 
towards our amusement, by telling some interest- 
ing sitory. Thus this collection originated which I 
herein offer to my kind readers, and I trust it will 
entertain them as much as it did us. 



PART SECOND. 



UNIVERSITY STORIES. 



THE THEEE SLATES. 

The old seaman whom I hereby introduce to my 
friends, and whose name I deem it unnecessary to 
mention, I knew when in my teens. He had been 
on the main over forty years, and was a regular 
visitor of the South Sea Islands. The Pacific he 
had crossed frequently, and made the trip around 
the globe over a dozen times. A fine specimen of 
humanity he was: Tall, erect, som'ewhat fleshy, 
but muscular and well proportioned. He had a 
ruddy complexion; deep-blue eyes; white, not 
overlaa'ge teeth. A full, brown beard, a little 
darker than his hair, fell, like a cataract, over his 
chest; and a fine mustache was added to enhance 
his manly appearance. He usually wore a pair of 



30 GATHERED IIY THE WAY. 

wide, blue pantaloons, an open vest of the same 
color, a light, Avoolen shirt, fastened with an ele- 
gant necktie, a red lined jerkin of dark-brown 
leather, a slouch hat, heavy-soled boots, and, for 
special protection in the cold season, a gray mili- 
tary cloak, held together by a brass hook-and-eye. 
He had seen many curious things, and had a very 
attractive manner of telling them, and thus always 
commanded attention when speaking. The cap- 
^tain was — or, at least, I looked at him in such a 
light — a kind of i)hilosopher in rough and tumble. 
His whole personality reminded one of Professor 
Teufelsdroeckh, of CJarlyle fame, with the essential 
distinction that he had seen the world with his own 
eyes, and had come in contact with everything he 
knew, and did not speculate behind the four walls, 
like that hero of Weiss-nicht-wo and all other book- 
worms are inclined to do. 

In 1S25, a Russian duke, a relative of the Czar, 
by name of Komanzoff, planned an expedition the 
main object of which Avas to circumnavigate the 
globe, but especially to find a northwestern pas- 
sage, by way of Bering Strait; and my acquaint- 
ance, being then a lad of about eighteen, and of 
somewhat Gulliverish disposition, joined in the 
adventurous enterprise. 

I shall now allow our traveler to proceed in his 
story in the first person. 

The ship on which we undertook the voyage was 
a small man of war, of three masts and with two 
cannons. Her name was Eurik, in honor of the 
founder of the Russian dynasty. RomanzofE had 
liberally supplied her with money and necessaries 
of life, to last us two or three years. We were a 
crew of about thirty persoms on board, among 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 31 

whom I was the youngest. Our captain was Herr 
Kotzebue. He was a son of the German poet of 
the same name, whose writings were much in 
vogue at that time, but now are nearly forgotten. 
The only hiisting renown the latter won was for 
something done against his will; namely, he was 
assassinated at Wiesbaden by a fanatical student, 
Avho erroneously suspected him of aiding the so- 
named Holy- Alliance in their measures to suppress 
German progress, by pointing out the most en- 
lightened persons to the Czar — an act which caused 
the prosecution now to> begin in real earnest, and 
forced men like Hedinrich Heine, Freiligrath, and 
others to emigrate. 

The other members of our ship's crew were a 
botanist, who was a distant relative of mine, and 
born in my native city, (he was something like twen- 
ty-five years old, had visited the school where I was 
taught, and had finished his education at Goettin- 
gen, while I was in my fifteenth year. A young 
scholar of great promise, he volunteered to> join the 
hazardous expedition, paying his own expenses, for 
the purpose of enlarging his range of knowledge in 
natural history); a physician; a painter (this was 
a young artist hired by the noble duke to draM' 
sketches); a first and second lieutenant; and 
other subordinates, of whom I was one. We had 
to assume Eussian names. I took that of Iwan 
'J''olstoinog, and my friend, the student, that of 
]^icolai Andxionoff, and so on, og's, off's, amd icz's, 
ad infinitum. 

We started from Oronstadt, the fortress of the 
Neva; went to Gothenburg, where we took two 
men, belonging to our crew, on board (Scandina- 
vians, who also volunteered); thence we crossed 



32 GATHERED UY THE WAY. 

the North Sea aud the French Channel, came into 
the Atlantic, passed on towards tlie South, leaving 
the Pyrenean Peninsula to the left, and stopped at 
the Canaries to purchase Madeira wine and to al- 
low our scientists to visit the peak of Tenerife, 
whdther they took the paintei', to miake pictures of 
its romantic environs. We remained there a little 
over a week; proceeded to Cape Verde; thence 
along the coast, to the Cape of Good Hope, where 
we stayed about thirtj- days, giving our compan- 
ions ample time for the exploration of its table- 
lands, botanizing and sketching sceneries. This 
being over, we again embarked, intending to land 
at Madagascar, but the equinoctial storms, having 
now set in, kept us out of it and other ports for full 
five weeks, until, one morning, we were aroused by 
tlie call, "Land!" issuing from the watch stationed 
at the foremast. We all ran up to look, using our 
magnifying glasses, and taking our maps in hand, 
to assist us in locating ourselves. We found the 
name "Salas y Gomez" inserted on that point on 
our chart,and saw, in a distance of about two miles, 
a bare, white rock hugely projecting over the 
waves, similar in form to a camel with two humps. 
As we were somewhat short of water, our cap- 
tain ordei'ed tAvo boats to be lowered, and eight of 
us — ^the botanist, our physician, and myself among 
their number — to attempt a landing, and thus we 
undertook the hazardous task of approaching the 
cliff. We carried our rifies and ammunition with 
us, in the hope of shooting something for fresh 
meat, for we had seen a multitude of birds on the 
island. The sea was calm, and we rowed to the 
other side of the rock, to avoid the breaker's; and 
there Ave saw a stream of clear water falling over 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 



33 



the stone into a. deep cut, which, however, was so 
narrow that only one boat could get in at a time. 
We passed the light surf with some risk of capsiz- 
ing, but reached the inlet in safety, Avhere we an- 
choi'ed oiur boats. We then climbed up to the first 
projecting rock (a rather neck-breaking perform- 
ance, on account of its abruptness), and were met 
by an endless number of seagulls, and a few pink 
pelicans, with ygotj stupid countenances, coming- 
out of the crevices. The birds did not show the 
least concern at our aiTival, but stretched out their 
necks, as though desirous to make our acquaint- 
ance. When we were halfway up, in a small cav- 
ity, we saw their nests, of a very primitive charac- . 
ter, and, in them, their eggs and young, in quanti- 
ties sui'passing our comprehension; and, the more 
we advanced towards the pinacle, the more their 
number increased. On a sudden, Andronoff, who 
was ahead lof us, aud had arrived at a natural jilat- 
fcrm, about ten feet square, above Avhich the rock 
rose high into the air, pointed excitedly at a spot 
before him, calling upon us to huiTy. W^hen we 
had arrived where he stood, we saw five rows of 
crosses, ten to each, engraved on the stone before 
us. The upper rows ap'peaired to be of earlier 
date, and somewhat weatherworn, or effaced by 
footsteps. We looked around, and saw eggshells 
scattered about, and, a little further on, a kind of 
bed made of sea grass, one end raised so as to f orm 
a pillow, as it seemed. We approached it, and 
were met hj the most surprising object our imagi- 
nation could have dreamt of. There lay, i*esting 
Ids head against the rock, the long-stretched, stark- 
nalied form of an aged man, slenderlj- built, but 
muscular, who held his hands folded over his 



34 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

cliostas oiM^ in ])rayer, and avIiosp long', siher-white 
hair fell from his temples and chin over \n>i whole 
body, down to his thighs, covering it like a cloak. 
We were greatly moved at seeing the strange fig- 
ui"e, and, going nearer to examine it, we found that, 
there was some life left in the body; and, indeed, 
after a while we saw him open his eyes, look at us 
wonderingly, raise himself a little, and move his 
lips, as though desirous to say something. He 
soon, however, fell back into his first posture, and 
remained motionless. Our phys.ician felt his pulse 
and heart, and said: "All is over. Bequiescat in 
pace." We knelt dwvn by hiiS side, prayed, and 
covered his bodj- with the weeds of his couch, 
Avhereby three large pieces of slate were laid bare, 
on which many lines iu a foreign tongue had been 
engraved by means of some sharp instrument. 
My friend Andronoff said it was Spanish, and, as he 
Avas an able linguist, he took them along foi' peru- 
sal. Just then three shots, succeeding each other 
quicklj-, were heard, which wais the signal for us to 
return. We luxstened back, fresh water having 
meanwhile been provided, and were soon on the 
llurik. A\'e reported to our captain what we had 
seen. He said we did right to leave the man where 
he died, but was anxious to know the contents of 
those slates, and ordered my friend to forthwith 
render them into our native tongue. We then re- 
set our sails, and took the northern course towards 
the Sandwich Islands. A few hours later the 
tnanslation by my countryman was finished, and he 
read to us what follows : 

Slate the First. 

My father's name is Don Alfonso de Vega, a 
Grandee of Spain. He lived or lives yet at Madrid. 
He was alwavs Avealthv, but loved luonev to such 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 35 

an extent that he could not overcome the fact of 
seeing me study at Alcala at his expense, and he, 
therefore, applied at court to get for me an office, 
sio that I could earn my own living. In conse- 
quence of his inliuence, I was made secretary of the 
governor at Manjilla, I was in love with Donna 
Elvira de Fuogo, an accomplished young woman, 
daughter of a court officer; and, upon my resolu- 
tion to leave the Peuinsula, she consented to man*y 
me, and go with me to my new home. My father 
gave us his blessing, and we departed for the East. 
Having traveled several weeks, Ave stopped at 
tlie Cape of Good Hope, remaining there a few 
days, and then went agaiin on board to proceed to 
oui' destination. It was now the month of August, 
and one night, the air being very sultry in our nar- 
roAv cabin, I took my blanket and overcoat, and 
went on dock. Here I lay down, looked up to the 
Southern Stai", that shone down on me with a won- 
derful splendor, but could find no sleep. I felt rest- 
less, and my thoughts wandered back to my par- 
ents and mine old home, and a great sadness fell up- 
on my soul. Then I remembered my youthful biride, 
whose arms had just embraced me, and whose 
kisses I still felt warm upon my lips, and of my de- 
votion to her, and I became reconciled to my lot, 
and fell into a slight slumber. How long it lasted 
I do not know. On a sudden, a terrible shock 
awoke me, and another following threw me out of 
my position, and I heaa'd loud lanienitiaftions. Then 
followed a thundering crash, and I felt myself fall- 
ing and strike the water. I swam for life, and, 
catching a plank, I was earned to the ground, but 
raised again, still holding to the piece of timber. 
What then happened I have no recollection of. 



3G GATHKRED BY THE WAY. 

Wlieu I came to consciousness again, I found my- 
self on this isolated island, between Heaven and 
this bare stone, the surging waves around me, the 
birds mine only companions — naked on a naked 
rock ! For many years I could see the wreck of our 
vessel, but could not approach it. I thought I 
should soon cease to live, and not be forced to envy 
those who perished in the disaster. Not so! Tlie 
birds' eggs and the Avater kept me, and probably 
Avill keep me alive for a long time to come. Here 
I am, alone, alone, with my great sorrow, and en- 
grave Avhat I suffer, with a seashell, on a slate, 
which is mure patient than my poor heart. I have 
no hope as yet to die. 

Slate the Second. 

1 was sitting on shore before suni-ise, the beau- 
tiful Southern Cross moving slowly down the hor- 
izon, and announcing the approach of day. Before 
me lay, still in dai'kness wrapped, the East, the 
phosphorescent waves at my feet moving restlessly 
to and fro like a flowing fire. I thought this awful 
night would never cease, and mine eye was fixed 
upon the spot where the day star had to appear. 1 
listened to the monotonous voice of the munnuring 
birds in their nests, and the foam of the Ocean, in 
front of me, grew pale and paler. And now the air 
and the sea, which had been one in my sight, began 
to separate; the giisteiiing st-aiis retired, one after 
the other, into the gigantic blue vault above me. 
I knelt down in prayer, mine eyes filling with 
tears more and more, until I sobbed like a child. 
And now the majestic Sun himself issued, like a 
revelation, from behind a cloud, and filled my 
wounded bosom with a vigor I never had felt be- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 37 

fore. I raised my head: "A ship! a ship!" With 
full proud sails, driven by a brisk breeze, she ap- 
proaches the cliff. There is still a God on High, 
who sees my suffexings, and will end them. Oh 
Lord of Love, Thou punishest with leniency ! Thou 
rememberst Thine unfortunate son! Thou knowst 
his contrition! It has hardly begun, and Thou, in 
Thy great mercy, terminatest his misery ! Oh, God, 
Thou openst my grave, and leadst me back among 
the living, that I may love them, and may press 
them bosom to bosom ! 

I went uj) to tlie pinnacle of the rock, to see the 
ship more disitinctly. My blood rushed to the heart, 
and, with increasing size of the vessel, my throbs 
grew more violent. I tried to be noticed by her 
crew's glasses, directed towards the island. But 
alas! I had no cloth with which to make a flag, no 
means to kindle a fire and produce smoke, and with 
my bare anns alone I signaled. Thou alone, oh 
Lord, Thou knowst my plight! I saw the space 
steadily diminish between the sails and me, and 
hark! Does my ear deceive me? A shrill whistle 
coming over the water! It was the master's pipe, 
that blew; to me it sounded like the trumpet of 
Eesurrection. With what jubilation did my thirs- 
ty ear imbibe it! But how wilt thou, human speech, 
knock at this aged heart — ^the A^oice I have not 
heard so many years? Lo, they set sail to alter 
their course! Oh, Lord, in whom I trusted! How, 
southward? Yes; they steer around to avoid the 
breakers. Glide safely, thou Ship of Promise! 
Now it is time! Look here! Oh, look here! 
Lower the anchor there! Stop below the wind! 
SloAvly a.nd quietly sihe pursues her way, moves on- 
ward. She knows notliing of my pain. So I saw 



38 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

lier go south witli swelling sails over the swelling 
Ocean, and the room between mj'self and her in- 
creiase, and, when she had disaippeared before mine 
eager eyes, and I vainly tried to find a trace of her 
aboA'e the rolling sea, I realized that I was de- 
ceived. Oh, then, my Avrath knew no bounds. I 
became frantic, cursed God, and smote my head 
against the rock. Three days and nights I lay 
thus, in despah', as one whose sense is dulled by in- 
sanity, and tore the flesh fi*om my body with my 
fiugernails, until I could find teai's to alleviate my 
raving anger, and was able to arouse mj'self, driven 
by omnipotent waait of Nature to provide nourish- 
ment for mine exhausted bodj'. 

Slate tlie Third. 

Patience, patience, patience! This is mine only 
theme no'\^^ There, in the East, the early Sun 
arises in all his pomp; and there, in the West, 
again he sinks behind the curtain of a cloud. A 
day is gone! Now, I see the shadow of my body 
falling straight south. A year has passed! An- 
other jear! Thus, one after another, they move on 
incessantly, but when fifty sank into the lap of 
Eternity, I ceased to scratch a cross upon the stone. 
Patience! I stand on tlie shonv, and mine eyes rove 
over the level, and mine ear hears the waves' eter- 
nal voice. Patience, patience! Let Sun and Moon 
and Stars encircle thee in their harmonious rounds. 
Let balmy breezes of Night make room to glowing 
Day; the Summer's heats to Winter's rains. En- 
dure in silence! How easy it is to bear the scorn 
of the elements if one is awake, and courage fills 
one's bosom. But nights! Yea! at night, when 
dreams us sleepless render, and those frightful Be- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 39 

ings, shadoAVS of the past, their terrible appear- 
ance make, and talk to us in terms which make us 
shudder. AAva y, away ! Who gave ye this power, 
awful memoi'ies of my youth, to frighten me? 
"What tossest thou thy locks so Avildly? I knew 
thee well, rash boy! I look at thee, and all my 
pulises stop. Thou art myself, as once I used to be 
— striving, planning. I am thyself, the pale image 
on thy grave. What sayst thou? Beauty? Good- 
ness? Truth? Love and Hate? Thirst for ac- 
tion? Thou fool! See here, what all the dreams 
of yore are! This thou art now. And still thou 
dovst persist in showing them to me, in all their 
ra diance ? Let me alone, oh, woman ; I know thee 
not! 1 have resigned since long. Wilt tliou 
arouse my passions out of their ashes? Wilt thou 
set a volcano, now so long extinct, anew in flames? 
Oh, do not speak to me in these soft words! Oh, 
do not look at me so tenderly! The light of thy 
blue eyes death has long extinguished; the sound 
of thy sweet voice made dumb forever. Out of tlie 
sockets of thy decayed skull no fire, no heaven of 
love, can issue. Dead is the world in which I 
tiusted! I have outlived it on this bare rock — in 
utler isolation overcome the all-conquei-ing time. 
^Vhy, ye pictures of life, do ye press me thus, who 
now belongs to the dead? Avaunt! Go back into 
the Inane! Be quiet, my heait; lo, the day is com- 
ing! Arise, oh, thou majestic shield of fire whose 
rays alone the phantoms banish which haunt my 
nights, when sleep does leave tliese tired eyelids. 
Oh, terminate the struggle which disturbs my soul 
and annihilates my body ! See, here he is, and they 
are gone! I am again myself, and keep ye here 
closeted in my silent bosom. Oh, dot], how feeble 



40 GATHERED UY THE WAY. 

I am! Carry nij- body, ye trembling feet, now for 
the last time, to Avliere the birds are nesting. There 
I shall lie down for an eternal rest. Should ye 
resist, I here Avould starve. God be praised! My 
soul's wild storms have ceased, and long ago 1 have 
made a vow that I shall die on yonder s^Mit, where 
1 can breathe the sea-air. I implore Thee, great 
Lonl, let no one come near this i>lace, no ship ap- 
proach this isolated rock, till 1 am gone, till all 
this woe is ended! Oh let me, w'ithont a sigh, ex- 
pire here! What should I, w^ho is nearly dead, be- 
gin among the living at this late hour? Shall 1 
wander, a corpse, among the quick? They sleep 
long under the turf w^ho greeted mine arrival on 
this earth. I am a long-forgotten theme, — ^a song 
past memory. I have suffered, Thou great Oreator. 
1 have confessed my sins before Thee. I have 
atoned for them, and I am reconciled with death. 
Shall I enter mine old home as a stranger? What 
bitterness can be made sweet by wormw^ood? Oh, 
God, let me die here forgotten, and end my mis- 
ei*,y, where Thy redeeming Cross looks dowm on my 
decaying bones ! 



IIABBI JOSEPH HALEYY. 

At the time wdien King Nebuchadnezzar had 
taken Jerusalem, and led her inhabitants captive 
to Babylonia, there lived, among the Jews newly 
settled in the capital of his great empire, one of the 
most learned and pious of their tribe, a venerable 
teacher of the Torah, amd scribe, by name Joseph 
Halevy. 

The Kabbi sat one evening, after supper, in his 
easy-chair by the table of his dining-room, and 
read in a gold-ornamented book lying on it, while 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 41 

his wife, the gra^'-haired but thrifty Sarah, busied 
herself in the adjoining kitchen. The volume con- 
tained, among other mattei's, extracts from the 
I'entateuch, and, when the old man arrived at the 
place, "And the Lord spake to Moses, there shall no 
more arise a prophet who like to thee has seen God, 
thy Lord, face to face," he folded his hands in 
prayer, and said : "If I have found favor in Thine 
eyes. Thou Father of Israel, ais Thou so often hast 
shown Thy servant, let me behold Thee ere I die." 
Hardly had he uttered these words, Avhen a dim 
shadow fell on the page of his book, and raising his 
liead, he saw the Angel of Death standing before 
liim, with a bare sword in his hand. 

Halevy was a man who implicitly trusted in the 
Lord, but when he beheld the awful apparition, a 
fever ran through his veins, and, with a tremulous 
voice, he asked, "What dost Thou want here?" 
Dereupon said the messenger of God: "Lo, the 
time has come when thou art to die, but, before 
thou enterst the company of ithe departed, any of 
the wishes thou uttei"S(t shall be granted thee. 
Thus, the Lord on High, in His great mercy, has 
(ordained it, and sent me hither to be thy guide." 
■"If this be true, Thou esalted spirit," the Kabbi 
answered, "I wish to see the Paradise first," and, 
when the Angel 'spoke, "So let us start," he laid his 
book aside, and prepared for the trip, but, as they 
had left the hall together, he added, "And in order 
that Thou be not tempted to attack me on the road, 
and rob me of my soul, pray, let me carrj^ thy 
Bword." The Son of Heaven smiled and delivered 
the weapon to the aged man, and thus they reaiched 
Eden. 

There the Angel lifted the Eabbi upon the wall 



4-2 GATHERKD BY THE WAY. 

encircling the holy place, that lie might recognize 
with his feeble eyes what was going on inside; but 
Halevy hardly felt the stone under his feet when, 
with a tremendous leap, he stood, sword in lumd, 
among the blessed, leaving the messenger of the 
Lord before the gate; and thus it happened, for the 
first time in their experience, that the breath of 
death swept through the dwelling of the immortals, 
and tliey greatly wondei'ed at it. 

The Angel, outside the A^^all, mow cried, "Why 
dost thou not come back, Kabbi Joseph?" but the 
latter minded little the words of the Spirit and re- 
plied, "As God, Zeboath, liveth, this place I shall 
(luit no more." All the s«-A'ants of Jehovah tlien 
cried: "See, oh Lord, Avhat mischief this son of 
clay has done. He smuggled himself into our 
siinctiiary and refuses to leave us again." The 
Lord hereupon said: "Do' ye not know ^ly son, 
IJabbi Joseph Halevy, who has found favor before 
Me, because he never swears false? Ye must not 
be angry with him, Mj- dear children, but let him 
do what he deems just, because, even to-day, he 
shall see My whole glory with his own mortal eyes." 
When the Angles were told this^ they bowed before 
God's will, and were silent. But Azrael, the mes- 
senger, still standing before the wall, had also 
heard the words Jehovah had spoken, and he ejac- 
ulated : "Kow, then, Babbi Joseph, at least give me 
back the swoi'd, tliait I may eonitinue my eniands." 
Halevy, hoAvever, laughed and said: "This sabre 
is mine, Thou terrible One, Thou hasit done mist-hief 
enough with it among mankind, since the world 
is created." Hardly had he spoken this when a 
voice arose, which sounded like thunderstonn, 
trumpet's blast, and the rolling of the sea com- 



GATHKREI) BY THI! WAY. 43 

biued, and he could distiuguisli: "Give back the 
sword, son of a mortal." Kabbi Joseph Halevy, 
the Babylonian, bent down in obedience, and 
prayed long and fervently. Then, rising again, 
he went to the gate and sadd to Aznael-: "Then 
swear, that thou never again wilt approach the 
children of Adam with this bare weapon, but keep 
it hidden, whenever thou art to carry a soul away." 
The Angel received tJie sword, raised his hand and 
SAvore: "As Jebovah liveth, I shall show^ this" — 
Just at this moment the kitchen door opened and 
Sara.h, entering, cried: "But, dear papa, why dost 
thou not rather go to bed, instead of snoring here 
in thy chair?" The old man awoke and found that 
he had dreamt the moiSt singular dream of his 
life. 



FEANCESCO FKA]^CTA. 
An Art Legend. 

Ye have, kind friends, imdoubtedly seen, some- 
where, one of the copies of that wonderful painting, 
the Madonna of Raphael. The original stands in 
the picture gallery at Di*esden, Saxony. The eyes 
which beheld it may consider themselves especially 
blessed by Providence, because, as the Jupiter 
Kronos of Phidias, the Athenian, cannot be forgot- 
ten, so will this piece of art not, shoiild it ever be 
destroyed. We stiood, w'hen in Dresden, befoire it, 
not minding anything around us, until the custo- 
dian of the museum rang the bell, to maJce us leave 
the palace of art. This picture has a story at- 
tached to it as remarkable as the piece itself, and 
here it is : 

At the time when the popes built the magnificent 



44 GATHERED BY THH WAV. 

structure known as the Dome of St. Peter, and 
those fa-inous men and blossomvs of all artists, 
Raphael Sanzio de Urbino and Michael Angelo 
Buonarotti, Avere working at it, there lived at Pia- 
cenza, a city on the rivei* Po, full of boaiiteoas tem- 
ples, public buildings, marble-works, etc., an old, 
well-known painter, bj' name of Francesco Francia. 
He had heaixl of that remaa-kable young Urbinian, 
had addressed him in letters, and had received in 
answer many tokens of friendship from this most 
amiable of all children of Adam. Raphael was 
sought for by many gi«eat men, esijecially digiiita- 
ries of the church, and was always crowded with 
orders; and, as lie never painted fast, but took care 
to produce something which should siatisfy the 
most fastidious taste, he had not a moment to spare 
for private affairs. He had been intrusted with 
the making of a picituiie foi' the alt:i.v in the chapel 
of San Sisto at Piacenza, had finished the same, 
and wrote to his older friend, Francia, the follow- 
ing lines: "I have always been desirous to have 
thee examine one or the other of my products, but 
it is only now tliat I find an opportimity for it. I 
should have preferred to come in person to see thee, 
but am busy here with working at the frescoes in 
the dwelling of His Holiness, which have to be 
ready at a certain time; and I, therefore, cannot af- 
ford to be absent so long. I have completed the 
picture that is ta hamg in the new tabernacle of thy 
city, of which I wiiote thee before, and I shipped it 
to-day to thine addi-'es.s. Pray, dear father and 
friend, take it hoone when it aiinves ; open the box 
most caTefuUy; exaonine it; see whether this deli- 
cate piece has suffered any injury while on the way, 
whether the canvas has a rent, and, if so, restore it; 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 45 

iind, when using thy brush, please improve with 
loving hand where thou deemst me deficient in 
mine art; and then hang it up wliere it will receive 
the best light. For all this kindness accept my 
most sincere expression of gratitude in advance. 
"Thine forever, EAPHAEL." 

The old master, having come into possession of 
the box, opens it, takes out the picture, brings it to 
light, loots, and dares not trust his ov^'n eyes. He 
stands there, overwhelmed with giief, and en- 
chanted at the sajnetime, tears iimning down from 
his moist eyes over his cheeks. "Realized!" he 
exclaimjs, "are now my dreams. I am annihilated! 
I am blessed! Be praised, gi'eat Lord, who re- 
vealedst such miracle of art yet during my lifetime. 
And now, after I have been permitted by Thee to 
see it, let me expire in peace." 

His by-standing pupils heard him say these 
words. They were the last his lips ever uttered. 
He gave no more answers to their questions. 
Francesco Francia fell down, and was dead. 



THE GOOSE DEAL. 

Yohahn Madaus was the owner of a patch of 
ground, with a little dwelling on it, not far from 
llostock, in the Duchy of Mecklenburg, Germany, 
which property he had inhei'ited from his parents. 
The city lies on the shore of the Baltic, and is the 
most importaut of this province of the Empire, and 
especially famous for its university and the fine 
sii;eers it raises, thus producing wise and foolish 
cattle, and making good the French proverb : "Du 
sublime au ridicule il n'y a qu'un pas." 



46 GATHERED BY THE WAV. 

But U) return to our new acquainlame. Jle 
lived with his wife on this garden plot. They 
were both hardworking, economical people, Avho, 
by their thrift, had accumulated some wealth, but, 
alas, had no supertiuity of intelligence; nay, they 
even were suspected of OA\iiing the largest potatoes 
in the count}-, (for, as they say in Gei-many, big 
potatoes and fools are friends) and, though it must 
be admitted that jealousy somewhat influenced the 
judgments of Neighbors Jochen, Jurgen, and 
othei's, it -nais an iindeniable fact that Monsieur 
Madaus and his "better seren-eighths" (as she was 
called on account of her pi'edominance in all eases 
where the couple's mutual affairs were concerned) 
were below the average of Mecklenburgian wis- 
dom. 

It happened that, at the beginning of spring, as 
usual at this period of the year, one of their cows 
was with a ealf, and, when the young female citi- 
zen of the animal Republic liad made her appear- 
ance, the important question arose whether the 
new comer should be brought up as an additioinal 
milk-cow or not. 'TTea," said Madame Madaus, "it 
is a pity to see such a sweet little creature butch- 
ered. She is so beautiful, has such a fine white 
star on her forehead; but we own three cows 
already, and what should we do with so many? 
Yoxi had better sell the ealf, and put the few Sil- 
berthalers by for a rainy day." Now, as the opin- 
ions of Frau Madaus were always as decisive a® 
those of the oracle of a Delphic priestess Avho sat 
on a tripod (probably, because the lady sat on a 
three-legged wooden stool her patient husband had 
made for her), our good peasant led the young ani- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 47 

mal, ou one of the uext weekly market days, to thef 
city of Rostock. 

The main street of this quaint, old town runs 
parallel with the shore, and extends over an Eng- 
lish mile from its eastern to its western terminus, 
opening into a public square, and when our friend, 
Madaus, had entered the eastern gate, holding the 
small beast by a rope, and sometimes pulling it by 
its rear appendage to assist in its locomotion, there 
stood, talking together, a group of ten to twelve 
persons, their heads covered with a tiny embroid- 
ered cap, called, in the student's language, "Cere- 
vis" (on accouuft of its being donned by this species 
of humanity, when indulging in their glass of Ba- 
■varian in the tavern). They were, in fact, visitors 
of the Alma-mater, playing truant, in order to see 
what was going on in town. 

It is a well knoAvn fact that these mortals have 
in their heads little nooks, wherein a lot of an 
G-mbryonic, airy ai'ticle, called "fun," is crammed, 
which, ait any moment an opportunity offers, jumps 
into existence; and thus, when the foremost of 
these youngsters (he stood on long legs, had an 
eagle-nose and black, lustrous eyes, betraying the 
rogue a mile and a half distant) saw our man from 
the country enter the Porta Rostockiana (probably 
thus named because the rustics bring their wares 
to market through it), leading the future victim of 
the butcher by the rope, he said to his companions : 
"Now, put yourselves, one after anothei', in dis- 
tances of about forty rods, more or less, towards the 
Steinthor, and the rest of you near the stalls on the 
cattle market, and follow exactly my directions." 
And hereby he whispered siomiething into eaich 



48 GATHERED HV THE WAY. 

one's ear, which seemed to amuse them hugely, and 
they dispersed. 

When our friend Madaus had arrived at tJie 
point where the tall youth stood, this auspicioais 
son of the Muses said to him: "Good mornin', 
old one. How d'ye do?" Then he added, without 
waiting for an answer: "Will ye sell yer goose?" 
"What! A goose?" exclaimed our peasant. "Oan 
he not see? That 's no goose; it is a calf, as I 
think." And, without taking any further notice of 
the inquirer, he proceeded on his errand to the 
market place. He had not gone very far, how- 
ever, when another such beer-capped fellow, linger- 
ing in the street, accosted him: "Hello, old chap, 
what d'ye want for yer goose?" "What! Also a 
gookse? Shall I unbutton his eyes? That's a calf, as 
1 mean; has four 'legs, a tail in tine rear, and, when 
it opens its snout, it bleats." The old man now 
went straight ahead, but he became somewhat 
doubtful as to the real nature of his calf, by what 
he had just heard; and so he looked back over hia 
shoulder to examine it a little more carefully. 
"Yes," said he, "that is, indeed, a calf. What, in 
th e devil, ails these fellers ? Are they blind ?" But, 
whiile yet soliloquizing, he sees a person approach, 
who yells, "Whaft's the price of yer goose, old 
man?" "Gracious," said our rustic, "hei'e on the 
street, and there by the gate, they have called this 
a goose. Oan't he see, Gelbschnaibel? That's a 
calf, that's no goose!" But now he felt really res- 
tive, took a few steps backward, scratched himself 
behind the ear, and looked at the animal. "Yes," 
said he, "that's a calf! A goose has feathei*s and 
two legs. These cusses are off their base." And 
hereby he pointed to his forehead. "Who, in God's 



GATHERED BV THE WAY. 49 

world, hiais ever heard tliat a goose is led by a rope? 

That is a little too " A few minutes later, 

however, when he had just arrived at the stalls, 
there loitered several persons who, all at the same 
time, cried: "Now, old friend, wilt thou sell thy 
goose? We wall give thee sixtine Groschens for 
it." "Himmel-Donnerwetter!" cried Madaus, 
"That's too stark! In all my lifetime I have not 
heard its like. Am I bewitched? It was a calf, 
and is now a goose. It is a goose, and Avas a calf. 
It was a calf only this moa'gen. Down with yer 
sixtine Groschens! It is a bargain! If it has 
changed into a goose, let it go as such !" 



THE STUDENT'S ALTEE-EGO.* 

Two rows of fine, substantial brickhouses, with 
their gables to the front of the street, extending 
something like three miles in a continuous line, and 
looking doVn from the ridge of the hill upon the 
valley, wherein the river Neckar shines, as a silver- 
ribbon does on green velvet; on top of the eleva- 
tion, forming its crown, the old beautiful castle of 
red. stone, environed by a magnificent scenery, and 
built, as it is claimed, bj' Michael Angelo, the great 
Italian thinker, poet, painter, sculptor, architect 
and what not? — ^that is Heidelberg. 

Oh, thou beloved city lOf my younger days! How 
do I long to embrace thee with mine eyes' wonder- 
ing circle, and pace over thy clean-swept side- 
walks, white as marble! Still, after the lapse of 
thirty years, thy venerable form hovers around me, 
when I remember how I, a modest student, the 
cerevis aslant on my head, sauntered to the Alma- 

* This story was told by my teacher, Professor T 



50 GATHERIil) liY THK WAY. 

mater and listened to the lore of thy sage profes- 

S01"S. 

I was then living in one of the littJe cottages that 
stand in the reai- of the hill, not far from the place 
of learning. A small porch was before the house, 
where I used to rest in a hammock, when the day 
star had just hidden behind the mountains, and the 
blue, ti'an.s])arent sky, dressied in i\i\ its Soutihern 
beauty, commenced to assume those grayish tints 
that predict the night. The last rays of the sun 
struck the window-panes in the distance, and made 
them appear like a sea of glory, blinding the eyes; 
until a dark cloud arose in the West and formed a 
curtain for the waning crimson-beams, which sent 
their last farewell to earth. 

Quiet reigned around the scene at this time, in- 
terrupted only by the tinlvling of the bell of a cow 
returning from pasture, a monotonous song in the 
quagmire, and, here and there, a shrill chirp of the 
cricket. 1 rocked myself leisurely, looked up into 
the dian.ond eyes of heaven, which shone down on 
me, thrilling my heart with their mysterious mean- 
ing, and meditated over things past, present and 
jet to be. 

Some mouths after my matriculation I had been 
made a member of one of those unions called 
"Bui'schenschaften," of whom Goethe says "that 
they kill their time with little wit and lots of fun." 
We were to have a meeting one evening, and, when 
I had spent, as usual, an hour in idle reveries and 
selfr.d mi ration, a colleague of miue arrived, and 
asked jne to come along, as there would be great 
hilarity in the "Kneipe." I took my long pipe, 
donned my beer-cap, and we arrived just in time to 
join the so-called "Kommers." We became bois- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY.' 51 

terously merry, after having imbibed our fifth or 
sixth glass, sang several choruses (among others, a 
Scotchman gave us the well-known song of Bums, 
in a German version, "Oh, Willie brewed a peck 
o' maut," which made the company loar witih laugh- 
ter and the rafters of the house shake), told all 
kinds of yarns, drank a Vivat to Bismarck, Pereats 
to Napoleon and the Pope, and it was after mid 
night ^.hen Ave parted. 

As far as I now can rememiber, I was sober when 
I %vended my way homeward, through the man- 
ubandoned streets. I felt, however, some kind of a 
disgust for A\-hat we had done in the meeting; for I 
was a freshman, and unused to such noisy revels. 
This feeling is called in the students' language 
"Bin Katzeujammer," for whit^h they prescribe 
herring with onions in vinegar as a sure remedy. 
My conscience felt uneaisy, and I had the sensation 
of being thrown headlong from the blessed heights 
of Paradise into the eighth bolge of Dante's In- 
f..'rno. 

The marketplace I had to pass to reach my home 
was still and lonely. The bright mo'on threw aer 
argentine rays from the bluish vault above down 
upon the ])avo]n('nt, here and there a dark cloud 
passing ovei' her, thait maile the shadows it pro- 
duced appear like ghosts wandering through 
night. It was so intensely quiet around me that I 
could hear my own steps re-echo in the distance. 
When 1 had a])proached my dwelling, I was sur- 
prised tc- find the front room, wherein I generally 
studied, shedding a light through the shuttea\s. I 
thought my landlord had forgotten the time and 
was reading, as he siometimes had done during my 
absence. I ope)ied the main-entrance,.stepped into 



GATHKRKU HY THE WAY. 



the hall, liiiiied the key of the chamberdoor, and 
stood petiilied. At my desk sat my identical 
second self before my hoiTor-stricken eyes! 

We hioked at each other for a while speechless, 
I unable to racA'e from the spot. IIo-w long this 
lasted, 1 do not know; it seemed to me an eteraity. 
My liair stood up. my heart beat audibly and heavy 
di'ops rolled from my forehead. Finally, however, 
I r(v.:overed from my shock and found the courage 
to say: "Who are you, spook?" I saw him groi^- 
paler, as though he had also experienced a fright- 
ening sensation, at hearing me speak; and he said 
in my own voice, which thrilled my heart to its 
deepest recesses: "Who art Thou, that darest to 
come hither in this late hour?" And again w-e 
stared at each other, for a long while, and neither 
of us uttered a syllable. At last I collected my 
trembled S])ints, and cried: "You erring phantom, 
leave the Jiouse and do not rise against him to 
whom ttis place rightly belongs." The one before 
me then replied: "Thou claimst to be the owner 
of this roKun, and so do I; but I shall not leave it 
until thou givest ample proof of thine identity, be- 
cause I am the person w4io, until now% has occupied 
it, and not thou, ais I soom w^ill be lable to sliow." 

There y\'{i& another pause of long duration, in 
which Avc; gazed at each other. Then he said, with 
a scrutinizing glance: "Here naught else can be 
done than to disclose our spiritual nature, since 
thou and myself look so much like twins. Starte 
what kind of a man thou art, and this I sihall do 
also." Hereupon I began as follow^s: "I am one who 
always strove for the Good, the True and the Beau- 
tiful. Avho never sacrificed his convictions to the 
Golden Calf, the Idol of the w^orld; and, thoiigh 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 53 

sometimes taking smoke for fire, never relinquished 
Justice, but persisted in fighting for her. So am 
I, and now what are you?" And with an expres- 
sion on liis countenance, that changed from deep 
anguish to malice as he proceeded, he answered: 
"As thou deisicribest thyself, alas, I am not. I am 
a coward, a liar, a scoundrel, a hypocrite before 
God and men. Deceit and egotism fill my bosom, 
and dissim-ulation is on my face. I see, thou art a 
noble knight, lenient towairds others, but misunder- 
stood, cheated, aaid wi^'ongedbyan ungrateful world. 
And now thou mayst siay: Who knows himself 
better, thou or I? And who depicted his character 
more correctly, thou or I? And who is the one 
wlio henceforth shall occupy this desk, thou or I? 
Dare thou now to step forward and claim this seat. 
If thou dost, thiou wilt siee me vaniisli into naaight." 
When I had heard these cruel words, my poor soul 
was wrung to self-knowledge, and I cried out: 
"Stay, oh Spirit ! Thou taughtist me to look into my 
heart as upon a looking-glass," and out I went 
again,^and poiured my tears into the night. 



A SMAET CLIENT. 

Before the amalgamation of the kingdoms, duch- 
ies, and petty sovereignties of the Fatherland into 
one compact body, under King William of Prussia, 
there was left, from the period when the feudal sys- 
tem had reigned supreme, many an institution that 
resembled somewhat the jusprimae noctis, so nice- 
ly depicted by Beaumarchais in Mozart's "Figaro's 
Marriage." One of the grossest nuisances was the 
great number of law concerns in some of these little 
states, especially in Hamburg. The holders of 



54 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

these offices were entitled to charge for their ser- 
vices anything: they saw fit ; and thus justice could 
be only obtained by the Avealthy, and the fee of the 
lawyer often by far exceeded the object at dispute. 
The folloAving anecdote speaks foi' itself: One 
day a worthy of the legal profession was sitting 
behind his desk, when a heavily built individual 
entered the room, and, after due salutation, said: 
"1 have come, your woi-ship, to see you about some 
important matter. When I passed the street yes- 
terday, some crazy thing of a dog tried to bite me 
in the calves, but only succeeded in tearing a hole 
in my pants, and so I wish to ask yon whether I 
could recover their value." "Certainly," exclaimed 
the lawyer, "you can. The man who allows such a 
pernic'ious animal to run at large is under obliga- 
tion to make good any damage said creature 
causes." "Should I be entitled to five Thalers?" 
asked Mister Dough, a baker by trade. "I am sure 
of it," said the Corpus Juris. "This is a new pair 
of pantaloon®, and it would take nearly as much to 
tolerably restore them." "Now, then, your wor- 
ship, please open your port-monnaie, and pay me 
the five Silberthalers, because it was your own 
Polio that bit me in the trousers." "My Polio?" 
cried the man of law, "my own dog? I never knew 
him to be of such a vicious disposition. However, 
since you say it was he, here is the money." 
"Justice must on Earth be done 
As long there's shining moon and sun." 
Master Dough smiled maliciously, and was just 
preparing to scrape together the five pieces the 
lawyer had laid on the table when a loud "Hold 
on!" issuing from the mouth of the Quo Wari-anto, 
interrupted him in this ])leasant occupation. "I 



GATHEKED BY THE WAY. .55 

cannot witlihold from you tlie fact," said he, "that 
for the legal advice I have given you in the named 
miatter, you are indebted to me for the trifling 
amiount of five Thalers and a half. Now, pray, add 
half a Thaler to the five pieces lying on the desk, 
and then we will call it square." 
"Justliae must om Earth be done 
As long there's shining moon and sun." 



THE PEISIITENT. 

Not yet had the Rabbi commenced to teach, for 
it was early in the morning, and the young star of 
the day just rose in the East, and threw his first 
timid rays into Nature's temple. The creatures of 
Earth liad languished for his tender kisses, and 
shed, at hjisisighft, tears of joy, that glistened on the 
grass-blades and in the cups of the flowers covering 
hills and valleys in profusion. The pupils were 
sitting around a long table in the vestry of the syn- 
agogue, upon which lay the Sacred Book. The 
young men conversed in a lively manner; the ob- 
ject of their conversation being a curious occur- 
rence at the plaice of worship, at the time the last 
Sabbath was inaiugurated. 

It is a well-known and laudable custom among 
the pious liussian Hebrews that, when a member 
of one family dies, the bereaved one takes a seat 
in the rear pew, especially provided for this pur- 
pose, and is spoken to by the Rabbi or principal of 
his congregation, with consoling words; and, after 
the night's service is over, he steps to the front, and 
implores the Lord to bestow His mercy upon the 
sou] of the dei)arted. 

The past Friday, a pale, gray-haired stranger had 



56 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

at first not only occupied the mourners' seat, but 
aftorwartls left it, and thrown himself down on the 
tliresholfl, when the crowd arrived, as though in- 
viting the comers to trample upon him. No one, 
of course, did it, but the people were anxious to 
find out what the cause of this man's singular be- 
havior was; especialh-' so, as the object of their 
curiosity Avas fairly dressed, and spoke the German 
tojigue. 

While the disciples were still conversing, the 
foreigner himself entered the room, and took his 
seat near the door, as if afraid to disturb the young 
people's study. His coming at once checked the 
lively talk of the assembled, and it was as if an 
early frost had made its appearance on the vege- 
tation on a May morning; so sitrangely contrasted 
his aged head and wrinkled face with the rosy com- 
plexions of all thiose in theliaill. 

After a while the Itabbi arrived, and, upon see- 
ing tlie guesit, addressed liim as followw: "Sjjeak, 
my friend, what made thee lie down on the thresh- 
old of the Temple Friday night, to have us tread 
upon thee? These young men might look at thine 
act ais that of one insaine, if thou wilt mot propei'ly 
explain it." 

Hereupon the old man beg'an in a grave voice: 
1 am a penitent, who has been oirdea'ed to confess 
his sins before the members of each congregation 
among whom I spend the Sabbath. Do not ask for 
my name; it rests with my beloved wife and child. 
I was a rich merchant, honored by Jew and Gen- 
tile. I was, so to say, in the zenith of my happi- 
ness and pride. My congregation showed me its 
esteem by intrusting me with the division of its 
contributions tow'ards the poor. Once, on a hot 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. ^"^ 



summer day, there came to me a pale-lookmg, des- 
titute woman. She begged me to assist her m her 
distress. I wanted to know her name and resi- 
dence; but she, being ill and hungry, cursed me 
I crew excited, and, in. mine anger, was ca-uel 
enongh to strike her face. She fell on a stone lying 
in my yard. I saw her bleed, saw her features 
chanoe, and expire before my horrified eyes. I was 
thunderstrnck, but had to fear no prosecution as 
her behavior had been witnessed. My congregation 
.howed me its sympathy, and let the matter rest; 
but the liigher Judge, in my breast, cried for re- 
venge, and I conld not sleep. I therefore went to 
the most renowned divine of our province, and 
aslved for his advice. With prayings, washings, 
and fastings, he ordered me to reconcile my 
wounded conscience; but the heaviest burden he 
laid upon me was. that I should wander to-i- fiiil 
seven years through the land, leaving my wife, 
child, and wealth behind me, and beg, from door 
to door, as my poor victim had done, for a piece of 
bread, and let nobody know who I am. Six years, 
oh, Eabbi, have I borne this heavy lot, and so much 
am T nearer to the grave. Do not ask me what i 
suffered; it is written in my heart. But the most 
unspeakable of my sorrows thon shalt hear yet. 
Once I came to the place where I had lived. In 
mv foreign garb, nobody knew me; but I recog- 
nized all. I stepped through the open gate upon 
the little patch of a garden in front of my home, 
which latter the Rabbi had forbidden me to enter. 
There stood a young maiden whom I did not know 
at first, but soon found her, by her features, simi- 
lar to those of my wife, to be my own daughter 
Rebecca, now seven years old. She asked what I 



58 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

wished, upon seeing me. "I am a penitent," I re- 
plied. "Go, my dear, and tell thy mamma I Avant a 
gift." The girl went in, and soon returned, the 
mother following, but hiding behind the door. She 
gave me a small coin. "Is this all thy mamma has 
for a penitent?" I said. The child ran back, but 
soon came again, and spoke, blushingly: "My 
father is himself a penitent, my mother says. She 
lias lost all her ppoipea"ty, excei>t this huu,se. If he 
were here, thou wouldst receive tenfold.'' Imagine 
my feelings, dear Itabbi ! I was dumbfounded, but 
suppressed my emotion, turned my back on my be- 
loved family and on my home, and continued to 
Avander — a beggar — through the land. This is my 
sorrowful storj', and thou wilt now be able to ex- 
plain to the inquisitive why I did what appeai*ed to 
them so singrular. 



THE LAST WILL OF GUISEPPE BARTHOLO. 

In the days when that horrible diseaise known 
by the name of the "Bla.ck Death" raged through 
Euaiope, and hovered over the deuise population of 
her large cities, killing men by the thousanids on a 
single day, there lived at Florence — that pride of 
the Middle Ages, the city full of miracles of Gre- 
cian, Eoman, and Italian art, the home of philoso- 
phers, sculptors, painters, bards and many other 
geniuses — the poet Boccaiccio. 

It is a well-known fact that the Sons of Apollo, 
while unblessed by worldly goods, are in posses- 
sion of one unrivaled treasure, called "Fancy," that 
beautifies their simple homes, and environs their 
lives with a wreath of thought-blossoms; and even 
amidsit the suffenings of waii", the ravages of epi- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 59 

demios, and oitiher trials of human existence, She, 
the miraculous Fairy, approaches them, consoles 
their lone heai-ts, and makes them forget all the 
horroirs filling the world around them. 

The life ot our poet was probably no exception to 
that of others of his class, because, amidst all the 
direful occurrences of that period, the Goddess of 
his sioul opened her horn of gifts, and showered up- 
on him those magnificent stories called "The 
Decameron." The scene of these tales is the en- 
chanting valley of the river Arno, where Floirence 
lies like ai child in its mother's laip. 

We a]] know that these famous stories have been 
used as subjects for dramais and operas by the great 
poets and composers of former centuries; and, as 
late ais at the end of the last, the German author 
Lesising -RTote a drama, named "Nathan der 
Weise," which hinges on one of the finest of this 
Italian's stories. 

The curious incident narrated in the following 
lines took place at the time our poet lived at Flor- 
ence, and deserves to be kept green in the memory 
of man. It may cause you toi smile, but it has also 
a serious side, and makes the impression of a many- 
colored butterfly painted on a dark ground. 

Until the middle of the laist century there was 
placed, on a public square of the famous city 
spoken of, a basketful of figs, there to remain until 
eaten by flies. It will surely interest you to hear 
how this custon originated. At the time mention- 
ed, and when the epidemic had assumed its worst 
character, so that even animals fell victims to it, 
there lived at Florence a wealthy tradesman by 
name of Guiseppe Bartholo. He was left a wid- 
ower early in life, with sevea-al children. Upon 



60 GATHERED HV THE WAV. 

these and other relatives living with him he lav- 
ished Ms nnoney, in order to rear them in. an aristo- 
cratic style; but, though well acquainted with the 
wajis of the world, he hardly expected what he was 
to experience during the most grievous trial of his 
life. 

The disease was, as we know, very contagious, 
and the people fled from the city in great numbers, 
leaving tlie dead unburied and the sick to their 
fatie. Our tradesma.n became also a victim of the 
dreaded sickness; but hardly had he taken ill, 
when every member of his household, for whom he 
had done so much, went off, and he was a.t the 
mercy of strangieris, and exposed to the damger of 
being robbed by the thieves who at this period, to 
increaise the misfortune of the inhabitauts, also in- 
fested the beautiful town. He was thus found by 
a Franciscan in his palace, who took care of him ; 
but soon he felt death approach, and urged the 
friar to find for him' a' lawyer who should wa-ite his 
WiUl. 

Onie of the poorer members of the profession, at- 
tracted by the heavy reward offered, consented to 
come. He presented himself in the room of the 
sick mian, and sat down to work. The merchant, 
being propped up on this pillows by the monk, dic- 
tated somiethiing like the following: "I, Guiseppe 
Bairtholo, hereby bequeath to my children, Eomeo, 
Giovanna, Julia, and Beatrice, all my real estate in 
Florence; all my movables, consisting of silks, 
silver plate, oil paintings, laces, as invoiced in the 
hereto-attached schedule; all my money in banks: 
all my stocks, bonds, and coins, contained in my 
strong-box; all my household goods, useful and or- 
namental, — ^to be equally divided among them 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 



6J 



after my demise." "Have you written what I baive 
said?" asked the paitient. The man of law nodded. 
"Now, then, add what follows: It shall, however, 
be incumbent on my heirs, for all time to come, to 
expose ainnually, at the date of my death,— under 
penalty of foi-feiting their respective shares to the 
poor of this city,— a measure full of tigs, on la public 
place of Florence, as a meal for the flies." Here 
the lawyer stopped short, looked up at the testator, 
and said: "My deair SeigTiior, I know you are a 
good Chrisitian, and think you are not going to joke 
in presence of that awful a,bysis which opens before 
your eyes. You will soou stand before your Eter- 
nal -Judge; therefore, do^ not jest, but rather be pre- 
paT'ed for the aAvful trial." 

Hereupon Guieseppe replied in a grave a,nd firm 
^oice: "Do you not see that my nearest relative's 
have mercilessly deiserted me, and the sole beings 
that remained with me while I am dying are the 
flies? Pray, wnite whiat I have isaid, and I shall 
sign the paper while life is still in me. It may 
serve asi a; punishment for my children, attached to 
my gifts, and ais a lesson for those who save too 
much during their life-time, for the benefit of un- 
grateful heirs, as I foolishly have done." The will 
was finished as ordered, and Bariholo died with a 
smile on his lips. 

THE CRUCIFIX.* 

AN artist's legend. 

The quaint old town of Nuernberg, on the river 
Pegnitz, is environed by the Franconian hills, and 
now owned by Bavaria. She was always famous. 

• This tale was given us by an aged English printer, by name of Sala. 



(52 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

especially in the Middle Ages, for ber wealth, com- 
merce, political influence, as a center of art and 
science and as a fortress of Ppotestantlsm in the 
Fatherland. The history of this city reads like a 
romance. She originally belonged to the ances- 
toTS of the present emperor of Germany, until one 
of the Kaisers of the Hapsburg-Dynasty, as usual, 
in financial straits, accepted her and thirty thou- 
sand ducats, from Burggraf Frederick IV, of Ho- 
henzoJlern (wbose castle can still be sieen on a hill 
near by), as a consideration for tbe Duchy of Bran- 
denburg (by Mm and his contempopairies, on ac- 
count of her siandy soil, nicknamed the "Holy Ko- 
naan Empire's Pounce-Box") ; and .she thus became 
the indirect oanse of this apparently worthless 
land's being the corner stone of the now so power- 
ful and magnificent Grerman Confederation. 

The city has been the stoene of great war«, but 
the most remarkable meeting of armies took place 
there in tbe thii'ty years' struggle for religious lib- 
erty, when that big braggart, Field Marshal ^Val- 
lenstein (who swore he would seize Stralsund, and 
were she chained to Heaven with iron, but did not 
succeed in 'this attempt), had palisadoed his le- 
gions nearby in the strongest manner po'ssible, and 
stood therei for months, face to face with brave, but 
cautious Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, (shortly 
before this great champion of the Keformation fell 
— a victor — -at Lutzen) without risking a battle, 
until many thousand soldiers had perished. 

The manufacture of toys is the main source of 
Nuernberg's wealth, but she produces also many 
other useful articles which are, and were as long 
as men can remember, exponted all over the globe. 
She was the leading member of that league called 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 63 

"Hanseatic," ait the time it floupished, the object of 
which was to protect the citizens against the en- 
croachments of the bai^ons, then moire powerful 
than the Kaiser Mmtsielf. Her merchants lived 
like kings and boasted of being more independent 
than princes. The fa,moiuis city hall, a wonderful 
structure, two hundred a.nd seventy-live feet long, 
full of curiosities; the gallery, wdth its sculptural 
work and paintings; the German National Mu- 
seum ; and other institutions full of art treasures, — ■ 
give ample evidence of what the skill and wealth of 
true citizens can produce. 

But the city O'btained her highest — naj', her im- 
mortal — renorsvu tiirough her great geniuses. 
There lived, in the fifteenth century, the most cel- 
ebrated of German painters, Albrecht Durer, 
Avhom we are inclined to call the Raphael of the 
Fatherlanid, though he may not equal the Italian 
in portraying the simple beaiiity of the female form. 
Then, you may have /heard of Hans Sachs, the cob- 
bler poet and mastersinger, w^bose dwelling still ex- 
ists. It is now" a public house, Avhere the swarthy 
but less S'Oing-imspired gentleman me'chanic im- 
bibes his cup of the favorite Bavarian, after sup- 
per. And another, not iSO often named, but nO' less 
great la figure, is Martin Beihaim, navigator and as- 
tronomer, a friend of Ohrisitopher Columbus. You 
can still find this man's giant-globe of the earth in 
the Ra^thhauis at Nueimberg. 

There are four houses of worship, masterpieces 
of Gothic architecture, in Nuernberg, — 'the Saints 
Sebaldus, Lawrence, Jacob, and Aegidieu 
Churches, — embellished with the finest ornaments 
that sityle ever produced, and containing many 
statues of angels, apostles, and bishops in their 



6+ GAEHERED BV THE WAY. 

niches. Antl, in the proximity of these temples of 
God, on the streetis and s(iuaa:^s, you will tind foun- 
tains, that are wTought in the same manner, orna- 
mented with animal heads, true to life, out of 
which water flows into baisins. We claim that 
these public wells could stand in the con-idors of 
kings' pala.ces, and their o^Tiei's would be proud of 
them. 'So one need be an airtist to notice the 
magnificent taste displayed in tiese cathedrals, 
founts and other public and pa-ivate edifices at 
Nuernberg, for they are miracles of human inge- 
nuity, aud impress us at first sight -with the idea 
that only masterhands could have produced them. 
When, thirty yenrsi ago, we traveled through. Bava- 
ria, aud a laudable curiosity led us to view this 
wonder of the Sliddle Ages, we came, when ap- 
proaching the city, upon a wall with small towers, 
and it seemed to us that our great-gi-amdsire, in 
a suit of the time of llenrA- YIII, had, on a sud- 
den, risen before our eyes. But tliis was only the 
beginning of our surprise; for, when we had en- 
tered Nuernberg, we walked through irregular up- 
and-down streets (so narrow that only two teams 
were able to comfortably pass each other) on a 
rough-paved sidewalk, between two rows of houses, 
with small windows and diminutive panes (stand- 
ing very close together, with their gables to the 
front, their upper stories projecting over the lower 
about half a foot), until we aiTived at a broader 
street or a square, where we saw the city hall, the 
sanctuaries, public wells, etc., spoken of above. 

The most remarkable biiildings at Nuernberg, 
according to our taste, are the Churches of St. Law- 
rence and St. Sebaldus. The latter contains the 
tomb of the saint whose name it b^mrs, on which 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 65 

Peter Yisclier and liis five sons, famous sculptors 
of the fifteenth century, erected a monument rep- 
resenting the twelve Apostles (all in bronze) watch- 
ing over the body of the departed, — a masterpiece 
that rivals anything ancient or modern art has pro- 
duced. In the former v>-e found a pyx of rare beau- 
ty, which could also bear comparison with what- 
ever has been made in the line of the Beautiful 
by human hands. 2«o traveler should fail to visit 
these miracles of the Dark Ages, as we condescend 
to call them. 

We do not wish, however, to tax our kind friends' 
patience too much by proceeding in this strain, and 
were solely led to dwell on these wonders on ac- 
count of the great impression they made on us 
when we saw them for the first time; and their 
images still tower in our memory, after so long a 
period has passed into the bosom of Eternity. 

Among the relics of the all-destroying time, in 
one of the chapels, is found a crucifix of exquisite 
workmanship, and of an unparalleled expression 
of suffering in the features of the Savior, which in- 
terests us here. The name of its maker is not 
known, but a legend is attached to it, and brought 
down from generation to generation unto this day. 

In the twelfth century, it is related, there lived in 
Nuernberg, among the sculptors, one of the most 
efficient in their craft, who had acquired a reputa- 
tion all over Germany. He wa.s, at the time of this 
occurrence, about sixty years of age; had been in 
the city all of his life; and had many admirers 
among his colleagues. A younger artist, at Cob- 
lenz, who had heard of the prodigy, wished to be- 
come personally acquainted with him, and wrote a 



(50 GATHERED HV THE WAV. 

letter asking leave for a visit, to which the old man 
graciously consented. 

On the morning- the guest was to an'ive, our 
sculptor walked up and down in his studio, (con- 
tained in a large building of brick and marble, 
which stood isolated in one of the suburbs of the 
city, and was surrounded with a cluster of large 
oak-trees, forming a small park), and looked at the 
work he had just finished. He shook his head as 
one does who is dissatisfied with himself. "In- 
deed," said he, "with diligence a,nd skill, I have 
A\'orked at this figure of Christ, but it is, at the best, 
a picture, pure and simple, — a dead form made by 
human hands. Where is life in this? Where the 
expression of the agony of one dying by crucifix- 
ion? This spiteful marble mocks me. It wall 
never become reality. It remains soulless stone. 
All I have accomplished in this piece is a pleasant, 
smooth form, which the experience of many years 
in our profession teaches. The art, however, to 
create what is equal to real existence, — ^where is it 
here? Everj' bungler could produce a figure like 
this." 

While he Avas thus soliloquizing, the expected 
visitor entered the room, greeted his host most cor- 
dially, and then gazed at the object of the master's 
observations. He was gxeatly touched at seeing 
1. the Avonderful image of the Crucified, and said to its 
fro. owner: "When I look at thine art, mine own en- 
abouleavors disappear before it, like the shadow under 
street^e rays of the sun. Here I find beauty of form, 
sanctudred with the most thoreugh finish mine eyes 
The mLbeheld." Hereupon the old sculptor said: 
according l seemst inclined to joke; othei*\\-ise, thou 
rence and St not admire this cold stone, as if thou wert 
tomb of the 



GATHERED BY THE WAV. 67 

enamored with death." The j'oung man then re- 
plied: "It may be that the peace of death envi- 
rons thy figure of the expiring Savior, so singular- 
ly silent is it; but I shall not argue with thee about 
it. I see, with deepest admii*ation, the miracu- 
lous taste displayed in thy work, and greedily im- 
bibe it. I behoJd what is present; thou, of course, 
mayst notice the missing." 

While they were thus discoursing, the master's 
eyes rested on the youth. He had hardly ever be- 
fore seen such a remarkable specimen of manly 
beauty, — so vigorous, so well-proportioned, so 
blooming. Such a form might well suit him for a 
model, he thought. He meditated a little, and then 
said: "Thou findst me in despair of infusing this 
stone with life. My knowledge of Nature aban- 
dons me right here, and it would be useless for me 
to look for models in this city, because there are 
none who have the bodily endowments to serve my 
purpose; and, if I should ask thee^ — whose form by 
fa,r exceeds in perfection any I ever saw — to pose 
before me, it would probably be in vain." The vis- 
itor, after having for a few moments considered this 
indirect offer, answered: "I should not be averse 
to thy desire, if it is spoken in earnest, as I think it 
might serve the Lord and also our profession." The 
old man was verj^ much pleased with this answer, 
and they agreed that the work should begin the 
next morning in the studio; and thus thej^ parted. 

II. 

Especially anxious on this day to commence his 
task, the sculptor is up betimes, and waiting im- 
patiently for the arrival of his new friend. The 
young man appears at the appointed hour, and 



68 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Mheu the master beholds tlie rare beauty of the 
naked youth's form, he is elated at his good for- 
tune, and examines, with the understanding of a 
true artist, every muscle. While doing so, the 
thought presents itself to him: How would it be 
if pain should thrill through this wonderful human 
frame? And Avith a sudden resolve, he says: "If 
thou wishest to see me succeed well, tJiou wilt have 
to liang before me on this cross." The guest ailoAVS 
himself to be fastened with ropes, but hardly is he 
helpless, when the sculptoa' hastens into an adjoin- 
ing room, gets spikes and hammer, and nails the 
poor unsuspecting youth to the wood, who is thus 
made a victim of the aged man's infatuation. 
After the first nail has passed through his foot, the 
unfortunate one screams; but the master has no ear 
for it. He watches, as one spell-boaind, evei'y mo- 
tion of the mai-tyr, and thus he continues until the 
last iron has penetrated the limbs of the bleeding 
man. He then seizes the tools, and begins to chisel 
his marble-block, with an expression of superhu- 
man joy at the thought of having found a model ac- 
cording to his own heart's desire, and of being able 
to imitate the features of one who is crucified, in 
his progressing agony. The sculptor's hands are 
working incessantly and with delibei'ation. His 
heart, has ceased to be human ; the stone, under his 
tools, only assumes the semblance of life; and 
whether the sufferimg one be praying, whether in 
hopeless tortures he weep, the artist, regardle,ss of 
his victim's lamentation, worlis on untiringly. 
Thus one day goes by; the second passes; thetliird 
sun is sinking behind the clouds, and with it the life 
of the poor youth on the cross is slowly waning. 
"Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani!" he ejaculates, and. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 69 

with a great effort, he lifts his head, and his 
last sighs re-echo in the studio. Then he falls back, 
and expires, and accomplished is an unheard of 
outrage, but finished also a piece of art ^vhich has 
no parallel on earth. 

III. 

"Eli, EH, lama sabachthani!" That was the cry 
which could be heard the same evening in the 
cathedral, but whose voice it w'as that uttered these 
words no one knew. Near the altar on which a 
dim light glimmered, moving its shadow to and 
fro, the form of an aged man was seen. He knelt 
on the stone pavement, and struck his head, again 
and again, on the floor, with passionate vigor; so 
that the sound re-echoed in the vaulted chapels. 
Then prayers followed during the whole night, a^ 
of one who is in despair, and implores the Lord for 
mercy. But when that gloomy light was extin- 
guished, and the new sun showed Nature in all her 
splendor, this w^retched being gave one last sigh 
and disappeared. 

And now, as it is Pentecost, a pious crowd ar- 
rives, and fills the sanctuary, to attend the morn- 
ing service. As soon as priest and sacristan ap- 
proach the altar, behold! there hangs a marble 
figure of the Crucified, so wonderful as had never 
been seen before. "Thus it is our Lord has strug- 
gled with death ! Thus it is He sacrificed Himself 
for the wicked world!" When the sinners look at 
it, their hearts are pierced by penitence; and 
"Christ eleison!" they cry, and kneel before Him 
Who brought salvation to them as He did to the 
virtuous. "It seems hai-dly credible that human 
hands could have made such a form divine. But 



70 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

how singular that it waiS brought here in the night 
time! It can be from no one but our old sculptor, 
who, doubtlessly, has delajed this woi'k in order to 
reach the perfection of art. What can we do to 
fittingly reward this miraculous gift? Gold alone 
will nerer do. That is too low for such a man. 
With a crown of laurels let us encircle his noble 
brow!" As soon as this suggestion is made, a pro- 
cession is formed by priests and laity, and marches 
to the master's house. They soon arrive there, but 
find the doors imlocked, and nobody answers to 
tlieir call. Drums are beating, trumpets blowing, 
cymbols sounding! No one appears to bid them 
welcome. Still and deserted is the place. At last 
some one says that he saw a man di'essed in a pil- 
grim's garb leave the house this morning. The im- 
patient people now rush into the room, and, when 
they arrive at the sculptor's studio, they open the 
door, and see-— But let us rather drop a veil over 
the hoiTible deed. 

IV. 

He whom they lead hithen\'ard they aecuse of 
having blasphemed Mohammed. He is a German 
sculptor, from Bavaria, returning from a pilgrim- 
age. They found him doing penance under yonder 
tree. It is the same man who gave such a wonder- 
ful account of the holy sepulcher. Death is the 
penalty if he will not do homage to their prophet. 
Will the old man show the courage of the first 
Christians? May the Lord enlighten his soul! 
They offer him glistening gold, and gold is tempt- 
ing. It will be his, and he will live, if he yields; 
if not, he must die. Do not look thither! Some- 
thing fearful they prepare! These fanatics are 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 71 

used to spilling human blood, and we may soon ac- 
company the martyr to his ginave. Lo, there he 
comes ! He is led in triumph. Does he not look as 
cheerful as one who^ walks to a marriage festival? 
Has he, perhaps, yielded? Oh, no! He remains 
firm. They proceed on their bloody errand. A 
palm beckons from oni High to the brave warrior of 
the Lord. Hark ! He speaks to some of his Breth- 
ren in Christ: "Pray, do not weep. Did. I when 
I nailed that innocent youth to the cross? My 
heart had turned to stone. The sign of Cain is on 
my forehead. Move on! Oh, Thou who hast suf- 
fered death for me, it is Thy will that: my protract- 
ed agony now cease! I did not hope that I should 
find peace so soon, nor did I deserve it; for life, not 
death, is torture tO' me. Receive me now, oh, Lord, 
into Thine arms!" After he had spoken thus, the 
hangman lays hold of him and nails him to the 
ci-oss. When the pain thrills through the mar- 
tyr's bones, he seems tO' be relieved of an inner tor- 
ture, and an exi^ression of peace spreads over his 
countenance. "Ora pro nobis!" the true believers 
cry. While his suffering lasts, he is praying inces- 
santly for mercy. Thus, one day passes by, a sec- 
ond one, and still he lives. A third sun sinks in the 
West; and, when its last rays fall on his enfee- 
bled body, with a last eifort he tries to see those 
surrounding the cross, cries, "Eli, Eli,' lama sa- 
bachthani !" and expires. 



(J GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

NOBODY ESCAPES AZKAEL. 

Pious David, Poet and Prince, after a life full of 
trouble and worry, and many wars with foreign 
and domestic enemies, among whom were even 
members of his own household, died leaving his en- 
larged kingdom of Jerusalem to his favorite son, 
Solomon, who could now enjoy his father's posses- 
sions in peace, and whose name was destined to be- 
come a prototype of all men governing stages, on 
account of his marvelous prudence, moderation, 
and magnificence. Having aissumed the govern- 
ment, the new Ivuler commenced to build the Tab- 
ernacle of the Lord, and the royal palace on the 
mount, both of which his parent had planned, and 
his vessels visited, as we i"ead, all known lands, to 
purchaise fine timber, gold, and precious stones for 
this purpose; and thus the Bible frequently quotes 
"Ophir," whither they went, which seems identical 
with the Cape of Good Hope, Cornwallis (in Eng- 
land), or Memel (on the Baltic), for it is certain 
that these cities have been reached by the Pheni- 
cians, with Avhom the Hebrews rivaled for the 
world's traffic. 

Well-to-do men , dear colleagues, make friends 
easily; and for that reason, if for no other, we 
wish you to be successful in worldly matters. But 
the glowing brilliancy of wealth also attracts flat- 
terers, who, luckily, sometimes get scorched by it, 
which we consider to be o'uly according to justice; 
for, what, for instance, would that intolei'able 
scamp of a mosquito care about the light-spending 
quality of a lamp were he not drawn to it by its 
splendor? Thus, it came to pass in the case of the 
hero of this little story, that, as soon as the happy 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 



73 



state of his affairs became known, all the princes of 
foreign countries hastened towards Zion, to pay 
him their respects, among whom was also that blue 
stocking of Seba, whose name has since become 
the target of many writers for their more witty 
than delicate remarks. 

From observation, Ave have come to the conclu- 
sion, without considering ourselves pessimistic, 
that the average mortal is a.n inferior product of 
Nature, and general enlightenment only the dreain 
of a few enthusiasts, who believe in a millenium. 
Thus it is noAV, and seems to have been always; 
and, if an extraordinary man ever appeared on the 
world's stage, humanity were prone to ascribe his 
acts to witchcraft; and this pro.bably is the rea- 
son why there exist so many tales of magic where- 
in Solomon has a leading part. Among them I 
have found one which seems worthy of repetition, 
as it contains the moral that nobody can avoid 
death when his time has aiTived for it; and here 
it is. 

Among the many guests of the monarch was one 
that enjoyed a great reputation; i. e., the rich and 
learned Eunjeet Singh, Eajah of Hindustan, who 
had come to make the acquaintance of Solomon, 
and also of the wealthy and enterprising mer- 
chants of the capital, with whom he wished to bar- 
ter. As he remained quite a. while, he and his host 
often had pleasant talks together, at sundown, 
while promenading in front of the palace garden. 

One day, a,s they were walking in the described 
manner, over a newly laid mosaic pavement,' a man 
dressed all in- white and vei-y pale paced with them, 
at some distance, and gazed inquisitively at the 
Hindu, as though desirous of addressing him. 



74 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

When this had lasted a -while, Runjeet became 
aware of it, and asked his companion, somewhat 
alarmed: "Say, great king, who is yon sad-faced 
youth, following the tempo of onr feet so per- 
sistently?" And hereby he pointed with his finger 
towards the stranger. Solomon glanced in sur- 
prise, in the indicated direction, and then said, 
laughingly : "Oh, I know him well ; it is the Angel 
of Death, or Azrael, as our people call him. But 
thou, Rajah, of course, art not afraid of him?" 
Hereupon the Hindu answered: "That the Terri- 
ble One may not approach thy friend, and rob me 
of my sioul, pray, great Monarch, screen my person 
before Azrael, and send me, thou, who controlst the 
winds of the air and the waves of the sea, back to 
my beloved home, the blessed India, as fast as thou 
canst." Solomon looked up to the sun, raised his 
right hand, and spoke a prayer, and, lo ! out of the 
chi*ysoprase of his ring grew a red column of fire, 
and formed itself into a cloud. A breeze com- 
menced to stir, lifted the prince on the airship, and 
carried him eastward, (his richly ornamented silk 
caftan flying in the air like a flag), baick lo his resi- 
dence. 

The king, being left alone, was now approached 
by Azrael, who asked him : "Tell me, Solomon, was 
not the man thou hast just dispatched thy guest, 
Runjeet Singh?" "Thou saidst it," replied the 
prince. "Thou didst well," then spoke the Angel, 
"because 1 am just on my way to India, to seize him 
in his palace." 



THE LEGEND OF ALEXANDER. 
I like to read the stories of olden times, when 
men lived with whole souls, whose ambition it was 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 75 

to fill the world with the fame of their deeds, in 
preference to those contained in the volunies that 
are written in our j>eriod, which never touch the 
depths of our hearts, but are calculated to in- 
crease the thirst for excitement only. Such tales 
we find in the tomes of the old Greeks, Eomans, and 
Hebrews, and of the bards that lived in the Mid- 
dle Ages. I have read in them sometimes until 
my eyes grew dim, and often even until the morn- 
ing sun broke through the clouds, and gilded all 
Nature with his brush of light. 

I found in the old literature a legend of Alexan- 
der the Great, which I think especially interesting. 
The brave king's fame had spread over all the coun- 
tries of the Orient and Occident, as is always the 
case with thosewhoknow how to spill human blood 
in torrents. Moving across the desert with his 
strong army,and intending to conquer the blessed 
lands lying east of the Caspian, Phillip's son ar- 
rived at the border of a beautiful stream, of which 
he had never heard before. He ordered his sol- 
diers to rest and prepare a meal under the fragrant 
trees growing there, while he lay down and medi- 
tated; but, thinking of crowns not yet won and em- 
pires unconquered, he was soon on his feet again, 
and walked impatiently to and fro in the shade. 
Then he knelt down on the river bank, to slake his 
thirst. Hardly had he moistened his hand when he 
felt a wonderful thrill pass through him, and a 
more than earthly vigor come into his limbs. He 
then remembered what his teacher, Aristotle, had 
told him about this miraculous stream; and, after 
the soldiers had refreshed themselves, he gave com- 
mand to proceed north, so that the blessed country 
from whence it issued should also learn of him. 



76 GATHEREU BY THE WAY. 

After a clay's joui'uey, they stood before the Gar- 
den of Edeu; but the king found it closed, and be- 
fore its adamantine gate stood a Cherub with 
a flaming sword, defending its entrance. "What 
dost thou want?" asked the Angel. "A Being 
more powerful than thou and I has put me here, 
to guard this place; therefore desist, for thy power 
ends where thou standst." Hereupon Alexander 
said: "Dost Thou not know that I am the master 
of the world, and no one can resist me? Open for 
me the gates of paradise." "Never," the Angel re- 
plied. "Thou just spakest thioie own judgment. 
It is only to persious who overcome their heai'ts' de- 
sires that I am instructed to give admittance to 
this beautiful spot, and not to those who follow 
the impulses of their selfish nature." Then the 
king, well knowing he could not contend with the 
holy Being before him, said: "If I be not per- 
mitted to enter this gate, Thou Spirit, at least give 
Thy servant a token of Thy favor, so that I can 
show it to the world as a proof that it is only Alex- 
ander who had the ambition to approach the con- 
fines of this holy spot." "Here, take this," said the 
Cherub, "and learn what it will teach thee, and be 
wiser in the future;" and herewith he handed Al- 
exander a small bone, which seemed to belong to 
the human body; and thus the king departed. 

The next day the great warrior assembled the 
magicians, priests, and wise men of his staff, and 
laid befoiie them the gift of the Angel, and asked 
them, smilingly, what they thought they could 
learn from this piece of half-decayed bone. Then 
tlie oldest of their number spoke as follows: "Do not 
despise it, great king. If thou only understandst 
to ask, tliou wilt receive a satisfactory answer." 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 77 

He then ordered one of the bystanders to bring a 
pair of scales, and put into one of them the small 
bone he had received from the king, and the other 
scale he filled with pure gold; and, lo! the insig- 
nificant bone weighed more than the gold. Alex- 
ander toiok scepter and crown, and added it to the 
precious metal, but the small bone still outbal- 
anced the gold and the regalia. The monarch was 
greatly surprised, and could not comprehend what 
had disturbed the common law of gravitation. 
The sage hereupon took a handful of sand from the 
soil on which they stood, and added it to the gold 
and the other objects; and this made the scale con- 
taining the bone . go up at once. And now the 
priest of Zeus said to Alexander : "This little piece 
of bone, oh king, is the socket of a man's eye, as 
thou canst distinguish by its form, — of that eye 
which is not content with gold, scepter, and crown, 
but needs in addition to them a little of the ground, 
in which it will rest one day, to outweigh its 
wishes. 'I'ake heed, great monarch, and do not ask 
too much, or Providence will soon add the grave to 
thy posse>ssions, to satisfy thy soul's hunger." 

Alexander did not heed the lesson the Cherub 
had given him. He went on warring against the 
nations of Asia, and died there young. An un- 
known grave in India covers his ambition; but, 
over his corpse, his generals fought bloody battles 
for the spoils of his prowess. His posterity be- 
came extinct, and his body, crown, scepter, and 
kingly robes were eaten by worms. 



GATHERKD BV THE WAY. 

THE FIRST LOCOMOTIVE. 

or 

Horse and Ass. 

The lowly ass 

Eats oats and grass ; 

The noble steed 

Does starve and bleed. 



Some fifty years ago, when the first rails were 
laid to enable the newly invented steam engine to 
move smoothlj- over a roadbed, there lived near 
Manchester a wealthy farmer, who, among other 
live stock, owned a white stallion and a donkey. 
We all knew that, in times past, animals performed 
mii'acles, and also talked, when great opportunities 
presented themselves, — for instance, that the 
steeds of Achilles wept over the 'tomb of their lord; 
that the she-ass of Balaam cursed the heathenish 
king, and blessed the Jews; and the most famous 
of the genus caiTied the holy family to Egypt. 
But, be this as it may, these two beasts of our 
peasant met with one of those extraordinaiy things 
that happen only once in two thousand years, and 
we cannot wonder that it enabled them to talk like 
human beings. 

They were standing in a stable, with windows 
facing the field, the rear of the building running 
parallel with the railway track, and only separated 
from it by a narrow lane, wherein a low thorn 
hedge grew. The horse stood near the window, 
and gazed inquisitively at the long rails extending 
in both directions; while the donkey stood silently 
bj', feeding on something that lay in the crib. On 
a sudden, the shrill, penetrating sound of a whistle 
was heard, which nearly frightened the stallion out 
of his senses, and made the ass jump; and a stead- 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 79 

ily increasing, rumbling noise came nearer and 
neaff'er to the place that shelter'ed the two ani- 
mals. When they had become somewhat accus- 
tomed to the disturbance, they both looked out oi 
the window, and now, for the first time in their 
life, espied the iron monsiter which human ingenu- 
ity had devised to move wagon loads without the 
use of animal power. 

Hereupon the horse began to groan, and thus 
gave expression to his feelings: "Forsooth! Had 
Mother Nature not covered me with a white hide 
already, what I just saw would be apt to bleach my 
hair in a moment, which sometimes is caused by 
great shocks, as I have heard my dear granny re- 
late, when still in my foalhood. Indeed, threat- 
ened is the whole posterity of our noble race, and to 
me, though 1 am a white stallion, a black future it 
prognosticates. How shall we, poor beings, in 
future exist, Avhile locomotives are running, able to 
pull such enormous loads, as I just witmessed. If 
man can exist without us, and do his teaming with 
this iron beast, Goiod bye, oh, clover! Adieu to 
oats! Is not the human heart made of steel? Man 
cares a fig for salvation ! He will mercilessly drive 
us away, and we shall starve, for we cannot steal 
or get something on trust, like these two-legged 
sinners, nor do we understand how to flatter like 
man, dog, or cat; and so before long the skinner 
will have a picnic with us and offer our hides at 
wholesale prices." 

While the poor stallion was speaking in this 
strain, the ass chewed his thistles philosophically, 
and acted as though the whole occurrence did 
not concern him in the least. But, when he 
had swallowed his cud, he licked his snout with 



80 GATHERED BV THE WAY. 

gTeat satisfaction, and quietlj- answered thus: 
"As far as this matter relates to mine own person, 
I do not feel in the least inclined to bother my head 
about things that will be." He then paused, and 
looked ironically at his compainion, and, at seeing 
him hanging- liis head in a gloomy manneir, he grew 
eloquent, — nay, even poetical, and proceeded as fol- 

lOAA'S: 

Ye high-cultivated horses have cause 

T' expect from the future gTeat danger; 

We low-standing asses, howe'er, we feel 

]^o doubt as t' our food in the manger. 

Ye gentle-born horses, each color and size. 

The people can chase from the stable; 

But, Avhatever the fault of us donkeys may be, 

T' exchange us for steam they 're not able. 

'Tis true, this engine is very smart 

The human being is making. 

But the life and weal of a real ass, 

With all her great skill, she's not shaking. 

The Lord will never abandon his ass. 

His patient duty-filler. 

Who daily, as, 'fore him, his fajthers have done. 

Does can"y his load to the miller. 

The mill wheel rattles; the corn is ground, 

And is stored by him in the flour shed; 

The baker then gets it, and kneads it to dough, 

For man wants cookies amd lye bread. 

In such an eternal circle the world 

Will move, in a steady renewal, 

And regular, ais this is the course of man's life, 

The ass, too, is sure of his fuel. 



THIRD PART. 



POEMS OF THE MAN IN THE MOON. 



Motto: 
Singe, wem Gesang gegeben, 
In dem Deutschen Dichterwald. 

[Uhland.] 



MY POEMS. 



After Horace's "Nonum Prematur in Annum." 

Full nine years in my desk I did keep them before 
they were published, 

And thej' remained have the same I had known 
them of yore. 

Many old verses I've read that hardly deserved my 
perusal. 

Poetry isn't like wine, that with the seasons im- 
proves. 



HAIL AMERICA. 

A Hymn with Chorus. 

Voice: 
Know you tlie land that rises from the wave 
In one unbroken stretch, — a block gigantic, — 
To the Pacific shore from the Atlantic? 
Whose hills and vales the clearest waters lave? 
Whose prairies of immeasurable vastness. 
And highlands steep, of freedom are a fastness? 

Chorus: 
Oh, yes! We know that cotintry, know its name; 
Without an equal is its glory, fame. 

Voice: 
Know you the nation that, to guard its rights, 
Did, after many years of service loyal 
To England's commonwealth and seepter royal, 
• — A new Enceladus, — ariseiwith might. 
And smote, as lightning bolts fall in a shower. 
Upon the Briton's mercenary power? * 

Chorus : 
Oh, yes! We know the people, know their name. 
Without an equal is their glory, fame. 

*I cannot share my Innar friend's antagonistic feelings towards our trans- 
atlantic cousins, e.xpres3ed in his poems "Hail America" and "George Washing- 
ton," my position being that of a cosmopolitan, according to the Roman, " Omnia 
terra raea patria," but I could not well suppress these songs witliout becoming 
unfaithful to my pledge. 



84 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Voice: 
Know you, on tbe peninsula, the town 
Whose image, in the dear Potomac rivei'^s 
Slight-i'uffled silver wave reflected, quivei-s? 
AVhei-e statues, temples, nniseums, are shown 
Whose art with liome's and Athens' treasures 

rival? 
W^here senatesi meet with every team's revival ; 

Chorus: 
Oh, yes! We know the city, know her name; 
Without an equal in her glory, fame. 

Voice : 
And do you know the virtuous government 
Of the United lands, and its resources, 
That law creates and law also enforces? 
Those houses headed by a president 
^Vhom people's voice, to better be protected, 
Out of .their ranks — a crownless king — elected? 

Chorus: 
Oh, yes! We know the rulers, know their name; 
Without an equal in their wisdom, fame. 

Voice: 
Then, sure jow know the flag, where'er unfurled, 
(Ou mig-hty hills and rocks, on low and high land, 
In foreign empires, or on sea and island), 
Her stai's and stripes she shows the wond'ring 

world: 
To be a symbol of our Time's Perfection, 
A shield of Freedcjm and the Eig-ht's Protection! 

Chorus: 
The flag, thou speakst about, we know full well; 
Her fame and glory have no parallel I 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 85 

ON GEORGE WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 

A Tribute. 

There is a. tim,e to try man's hieiart: 
When Washington was born, 
Our country was in fetters held, 
Of her rights by the English shorn. 

On Britain's throne a ruler sat 
Who the iron shackles forged 
Tying the hands of our fathers dear. 
Their wealth with his favorites gorged. 

The pilgrims' children bore the cross 
With loyalty sublime, 
Until the tyi-ant gTew too bold, 
And to> strike had come the time. 

The roll of the war drnm then was heard. 
The trump ets rang o'er the land ; 
And Washington was called ui>on, 
To lend their causie his hand. 

A task it was of life or death 
Our fathers undertook; 
The cannons' r-oar the heaven rent. 
The earth to her center shook. 

Thus strove the brave for many years, 
And drove the Britons home. 
And formed an empire of their own, 
To be their Libenrty's dome. 

And made their leader president, — 
Their George for an English George, — 
And called their capital by his name, 
Who taught them swords to forge. 



86 GATHERED UY THE WAY. 

We, therefore, celebrate this day, 
The day our hero's born; 
Will always praise his memory. 
And lords and tyrants scorn. 



ABKAHAM LINCOLN. 

In Memoriam. 

Of him to-day I sing 
Whose glory has no spot, 
And know "what I here bring 
Will in man's bosom ring. 
As long as planets swing, 
When I am long forgot. 

The p-aitriot strove in vain 

To reconcile our foes. 

The South fought' for the stain 

Of serfdom inhumane; 

To break its iron chain 

We Northern people rose. 

They were the first to draw 
Their. swoird, to conquer us; 
We, lovers of the \a^', 
Kebellion's Hydra saw 
Open her rav'nous maw, 
And feared our Union's loss. 

To strike for equal I'ight, 
Into battles we were led 
Black and gloomy as night 
Illumed by comets' light; 
And thus, in the gory fight, 
The kindreds' blood wa^' shed. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 87 



But 'bove us all shjone high, 
Our Nation's flag in hand, 
Lincoln. His battle crj^ : 
'•'The country's Unity 
And man's Fraternity!" 
Thus fought he to the end. 

Accomplished it, the brave. 
And perished for our cause. 
We laid him in his grave; 
But free was now the slave. 
The stars and stripes were safe, 
Eestored God's holy laws! 



GENBEAL SHERMAN'S DEATH. 

A Dirge. 
Another hero dead! 
Before Thj curtain, Death, 
We stand, bereft of breath. 
And ask thee, why thy keen-edged scythe 
Doth reap the sad, the blithe. 
And those in gloTy clad. 

They lay him in his graA'e. 

We stamd, deep sighing, by. 

The tear in our dim eye 

Does question: "Shall our noblest go. 

And leave us here to woe? 

Shall die our good, our brave?" 

Of heroes three, was he 
The last. The others went 
Before him, when God sent 
His holy Angel, to remove 
Whom He too much did love 
To miss tieir company. 



f^"^ GATHERE1> HY THE WAY. 

But they for aye are born. 

Their being's never past. 

Such men are made to last. 

Their words and deeds immortal are, 

As yon e'erlasting star 

The North-sky doth adorn. 

COLONEL EUGENE P. JACOBSON.' 

A Memorial. 
Died May 3, 1881. 

I cannot speaJc, I canuiot write, 
My heart is sick, is broken quite; 
The one oin earth I loved the most 
Lies soulless on the bier, — is dust. 

This thoughtful forehead, eyes full love, 
Will never more with Idndness move; 
Soon will he rest in a lon'ly grave. 
Thus died the bravest of the brave! 

In sorrow, words for which do fail, — 
Her face, a Niobe's, marble pale, — 
Lacking a tear, and reft of. life. 
Over his body bends his wife. 

No child to kiss Ms lifeless hand; 
But, him beside, the people stand. 
Whose friend and father he ever was. 
They fill the hall with their "Alas!" 

My true beloved, my brother, died! 
A coffin black will open wide, 
Will take the hero to his rest, 
And leave me here on earth a guest. 

• Note.— Born May 3, 1841, Id Prussia: enlisted in ISCl as a volunteer; 
fought bravel.v during the War of the Rebellion: was twice wounded: received 
two medals of honor for brave conduct in the battles of Chancelloravllle and 
Antlelam: was promoted, and died as senator of his state, in the service of his 
adopted country. Blessed be his memory, and may his life and acts be ejramples 
for com ing generations. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 89 

SONG OF THE EMIGRANT. 

My home, my sweet, beloved, old home, 
I still am bound to thee! 
Shall it forever be my doom 
Away fi'om thee to be? 



When, in my lon'ly ev'ning hours, 
I dream of thee, my land, 
Before mine eyes thy shadow tow'i"s,- 
Mv sioTTo^' has noi end. 



And when I read the merry rhymes, 
The ones as youth I sang, 
They sound to me like funeral chimes, 
So woeful is my pang. 

And thimk I of my parents old. 
Their heads in silver dressed. 
Of whom my dreams so often told 
That in the grave they rest, — 

And that f ofre'er from them I went, 
Their wayward, restless son: 
Oh, then my heart in twain is rent. 
And all my life is gone! 



There is no field, there is no grove. 
In all this land, so vast. 
That like to thee, my home, I love. 
And cherish to the last. 



90 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

LITTLE VIOLET. 

Where from the rock the waters 

Flow down into the vale, 

Where they, in ceaseless murmurs, 

Their fairy tales exhale, 

There stands a blue-eyed flow'ret. 

All gentlexiess and love! 

And glazes art: the crj^stalis 

Descending from above. 

A wanderer is approaching. 

He sees the violet blue; 

He bears in his pious bosom 

A soul full passion true. 

He kneels by the charming blossom, 

All doubt and feair Ms heart: 

"How sweet a little flower, 

How innocent thou art! 

"Oh, let my wanderings end here, 
Mgh thee, sweet, fragrant herb ! 
And let us dream together 
What life cannot disturb. 
I'll drink the spring, refreshing, 
The sweets thou dost exhale, 
And, when I'm dead, be buried 
Here, in thy quiet vale." 



BY THE SEA. 

Years ago, when life was blissful. 
In a cottage by the sea, 
Dwelt a charming little maiden, 
Who was all the world to me. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 91 

Yes, I liked thait little maiden, 
And thie little girl liked me; 
And i eo'urted her, that maiden, 
In the cottage by the sea. 

And she told me how she loved me, 
That blessed maiden by the sea. 
But I loved her, thought I loved her, 
Better fiar than she did me. 

For my heairt was filled with passion. 
And the stings of jealousy; 
And though hers was calm, forgiving, 
We did often disagree. 

And, alas! the Heaven grew angry 
O'ei" this lack of hairmony. 
Sent grim Deaith, who seized my maiden. 
In the ciottage by the sea. 

Since that hour the world is rayless, 
Sorrowful, — is dead to me; 
For my soul cannot forget her 
Who was more than life to me. 

Where the Ocean's rolling waters 
Sing their miournful melody, 
I sit lonesome, weeping, dreaming 
Of my charm tr, by the sea. 



VERSES FOR A YOUNG GIRL'S BIRTHDAY. 

Helen R . 1890. 

While others play, to pleaisures yield, 
Digst thou, sweet girl, in Muses' field ; 
In heart so youmg, such holy fire 
Induces me toi tune my lyre. 



92 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

These Homer's woi-ks a token be 
Of my esteem, my joy to see 
Tliat, even in the youngest heart, 
The goddess pLints her seed of art. 



THE TKUE BAKD. 

After Richard Wagner's Mtistcrsingers. 

After Richard Wagner's Meistersingers! 
When fields in verdant gowns are dressing. 
The sun sends down his balmy rays, 
With milder kisses Earth caressing, 
And birds and bees sing spring's sweet lays ; 
When youthful souls are liquid fire. 
The heart is filled with dreams of love: 
A wind-harp is thy bosom's lyre. 
Through which the airs of magic rove. 

But when sad autumn's leaves are falling. 
When blasts and rain-storms frequent are ; 
The flying throngs, with shrieks appalling, 
Take wing amd seek the southeosn star; 
When head and heart no more do cherish 
The direams of thine once hopeful days, 
And still thy songs not cease, — not perish 
They will, they'll last, thy thoughts, thy lays. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 93 



EVENING CHIMES. 

I. 

The h'ammoick is my church pew; 
My temple is the sky; 
The stars of Heaven my tapers; 
My choir the cricket's cry. 

The spirits of my dreamland, 

My fancies blithe and fair, 

That rustle through my heart-strings. 

They are my evening pray'r. 

Thou star, with changing colors, 
That shinest dark and light, 
Art like my early boyho'Od, — 
Now glooimy and now bright. 

Bemindst me of mj pareut, 
Whoi saink in an early grave. 
Of my most virtuous mother, 
Who love and lore me gave. 

Thou glorioais star, that glistenst 
On Heaven with radiamt fire. 
Art like the blissful love dream, 
The theme of my youtliful lyre. 

Was it a real being 
Which o'er my soul did steal, 
Or but a faiir illusion 
My tender heaiit did feel? 



04 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Did I embrace a goddess, 
My soul had formed so bold, 
And did she bear me angels, 
A blessing thousandfold? 

Immovable star that yonder 
Adornsi the northern sky, 
A token of my f utune 
In thee I do descry. 

Whatever on life's journey, 
I destined was to be, 
In thee I always trusited, 
Full hope did gaze'iatthiee. 

I cradle in my hammock, 
And look at the downy cloud; 
I hear the cricket's music. 
Now soft, and now more loud. 

I see the shining army, 
The eternal riddle, above, 
And trace my lifetime backward, 
My dreams of fame and love. 

Were they but idle phaaitoms? 
Were all those hopes of youth. 
Like yon mysterious starlights, 
A mask but for the truth? 

Just th,en oomes little Greptie, 
And puts on my brow la kiss; 
And, lo, I know them real, — 
My love, my fame, my blisis! 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 95 

II. 

Harp aeoiiam, child of magic, 
Tender playmate of mild Zephyr, 
Thou and the human heart are equals, 
While time's dial onward moves. 

As in the springtime, balmy breezes 
Through thy wire strings softly rustle, 
And in whispers, scarcely audible, 
Q'hou thy wonder tale exhal'st, 

Thus from their lips the sighs do issue. 
When the sweet enchanting love dream 
Thrills the heaort of youth and maiden, — 
When their soul to the Unknown strives. 

Not so magical the voice is 
In our wars with Fortune's monsters : 
Change of luck and cajre and soriporw, — 
Burdens under which we quail. 

Lo, there sweeps a hot Sirocco! 
And thy voice, sweet harp, does quiver. 
And thy sounds are shrill and mournful 
As the moans of deep-felt woe. 

Winter's storms are also coming. 
Suddenly thy strings are broken! 
Will there be a second life? 
Heart and Harp give no more answer. 

III. 

Soft night ascends the Heaven's tent. 
In her gigantic mantle clad, 
With di'monds rich embroidered, 
A silver crescent on her head; 
The air is filled with flowers' scent. 



9f) GATHEREI) BY THE WAY. 

The cares of dadlj' life, the uoise 
Of busy sti'eete^ are now at rest; 
The sun is hiding in the AA'est, 
Tlie birds fly twitt'ring tO' their nest; 
The cowbell's is the lO'udest voice 

Thou ill the golden dawn dost hear; 
The eA'ening star's resplendent beam, 
And crickets' ohirp, to cradle seem 
Thy inmosit feeling int' a dream. 
Eternity to thee is near. 

This is the hour to f oi"mer times 
Thine overburdened heaa-t to turn, 
To friends who once for thee were born, 
And now, for aye, from thee are torn. 
Of things long paist thy bosom chimes. 

TV. 

At night, ini the still and solemn night. 
Forth walks the silver moon, 
And sheds her sioft and liquid light 
On me, — the silvei- moon. 

I wander across the blooming vale, 
Alone, to the nearest wood. 
And listen to the night bird's tale. 
In the gi^en and fi-agrant wood. 

And nigh a brooklet I lie down, 
Where murm'ning plays the spnng; 
A bat flits by in the purple dawn. 
Melodious sighs the spring. 

There, on the pillow of soft grass, 
I dream of days bygone; 
Of life that is like verdant grass, — 
So frail, so sudden gone. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 97 

Aud, aftea" the many cliaiiipjir"- 'iveams 

In the night's harmonious rest, 

My thoughts gi*ow bright as moonlight beams, 

And home I go to rest. 



The moon, the silent silver moon, 
Looked down on the village small; 
The golden ^stairs so brightly shone ; 
The poplars rose so tall. 

T wiamdered alone in the e"\'ening air, 
My fa<:-e against the bvppze. 
My head full thoughts, my he«rt full care. 
In the shade of the whisp'ring trees. 

I dreamt of the human pilgrimage, 
Our dooms, the good, the bad. 
That seem old Adam's heritage; 
I drea-mt I Avere yet a lad. 

With all those hopes of younger years 

WMch look on us so bright. 

And thought of the present, and how it appears,- 

Of all my gladness the flight. 

The many beloved ones, alas, I lost, 
The friends who forsaken me have; 
How lone on earth I wander now must. 
How frail, the nearer the grave. 

If there, perchamce, is a second life, 

In which our loss we shall mend. 

Or whether our prospects, whatever our strife, 

Is destined with lifetime to end. 



OS (lATriHKlil) HV TllU WAV. 

Tlic nuMJii, above, llic silent moon, 
Sliouo down so sick and palo; 
My licait <;:i-('\v faint, and I felt so lone, — 
It was but tlie olden t^ile! 

VI. 

^\■lu'n day's hot star behind cloud's cui'lain sinks, 
And solemn nig-ht appetirs on raven wings, 
The sky in one gray-tinted cloak is hid, 
With rtaisliing silver pearls all overlit; 
AVhen trees ami leaves and HoAV(>rs, red and white, 
Enticed by zejdiyr's whisper, say "(Jood Night," 
And in the fragrant valley nanglit is heard 
r.ut cowbells' chimes, the leaders of the herd. 
The cricket's chirp, the distant tune in mires, — 
And iianght is seen but of dead brush the fires; 
Wiien moon and stars with soft aud quivering 

light 
' iaze through the rustling leaflets, clear and bright. 
And every other creatuaie is at rest: 
Then man is not alcne; his swul is blessed 
With things immortal he descries ou High, — 
lie ilwells above, and is the Godhead nigh. 



YII. 



In aged days, when «hattere<I is thy frame, 
Thy lo'cks are white, thy limbs are frail aud lame. 
Thy work of former yeairs a crumbling heap, 
Aud nought is left thee but eternal sleep; 

And thou lookst back on times that now arepassed, 
A manhood full of toil, a youth go'ne fast, — 
All thou of this short life experienced, is 
A fill of sorrow and a void of bliss. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 99 

2n or think a harder lot to be thj^ shai-e 
Than that of others who life's burdens bear. 
Look back at men who lived in former ages; 
Read volnnnes tliee bequeathed by ancient sages. 

What dost thou vsee? Of all that humankind 
Have done, whereof the traces left behind, 
But fragments of their acts and better will, 
Of which, tha,ii sorrow, miuglit thou canst distil. 

The deeds of ages, now for aye paist by, 
Keuowu of which did reach the starry sky. 
And still there shines in undiminished glorjr; 
They all tell tliee of suffering the same story. 

Death crowned tlie acts of the old philosopher 
Whose image looks on us so precious, rai-e; 
Death limited the noble Caesar's strife, 
So gi'and a figure, so sublime a life! 

A martyr died the sagest of all sages; 
His loire enlighten ■\^'ill all future ages; 
In dark oblivion names of empires sink, 
But never will His fame and glory shrink. 

Look on the life of myriads who did die 
A siilent sacrifice, and now do lie 
Beneath the turf on which thy sole does tread. 
They all in one stupendous grave are laid. 

Let simple be, therefore, and moderate. 
Thine earthly life, like that the ancients led. 
Devotion be tin' timers coiutinuous school; 
It be thine own, it be thy children's goal. 



100 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Thy modesty leads tliee to a virtuous life, 
xVnd terminates for wealth and fame the strife. 
It gives thee time for studj", art, and love, 
Brings down to earth that bliss which is above. 

Thy thoughts will like a radiaait diamond shine, 
In hours of darkness be a star divine, 
The beams whereof will clear thy clouded night, 
Will be in thy distress a soothing sight. 

Thy heart's kind feeling will thy life outlast, 
Will be remembered when thou long art passed; 
A bright example will foa* others be, 
'N eiternal pride to thy posterity. 



FOURTH PART. 



TRANSLATIONS, BIOGRAPHES, ETC. 



Those who much do give, 
Give something every one. 

— Goethe, 



However proud iiiitious may be of tlie>iv lan- 
guage, — ^ais luning sea'Aenl as a meiliuni of their 
acliieyeiueait»s in the iwvst, — tiie knowledge of for- 
eign literature must be cousiilered a means to pro- 
mote universal bi'otherhood of men. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 103 



FlUTZ IJEUTEK. 



Fritz Reciter was born in the Duchy of Mecklembiirg, Ger- 
many, in the first part of our century, and is one of those 
bards in the world's literature whose number can be 
counted on the fingers of our hand. He has written in the 
■ provincial dialect of his home, and is nearly unapproach- 
able to foreigners, and, even in the Fatherland, only under- 
stood bj' those who make his works a special study, or live 
in the northern part of the empire, and speak its language. 

Renter has all the endowments of a great artist. He 
knows the human heart to perfection, and his grasp into 
the natural, when depicting incidents of daily existence, 
borders on the marvelous. He combines with this the 
capacity of soaring into the regions of the pathetic; and 
there it is where he delights the soul of the reader the most ; 
and thus we are continually rocked on the boat of his 
fancy between a hearty laugh and a tear. His humor is 
often broad, but never cynical, and has not been paralleled 
by any poet, ancient or modern, except, perhaps, Shakes- 
peare, Burns, and Aristophanes. He has a unique facility 
of inventing comical situations of the persons acting in his 
stories, and their solution is surprisingly true to life. His 
works have produced a number of students, who travel all 
over the world (similar to our English minstrels) to recite 
from his writings; and the result of this is that Reuter is at 
present known in every place where Germans live; and we 
hardly see a home where one or the other of his books is 
not found; and thus the edition of the same is numberless. 

The life of this master of the pen is as remarkable as his 
productions are. He was one of those who spoke against 
oppression in 1848, and joined the revolutionary army 
which strove to obtain a constitution from the "Holy 
Alliance," so called. While Carl Schurz and many others 
escaped to foreign countries, he was captured by the Prus- 
sian government, tried for high treason, sentenced for life, 



104 GATHEKEI) BY THE WAV. 

and interned at Spandaii,- where he remained six years: 
and, when finally amnestied, he had no bread in his 
home for himself and wife. In 1856 he was induced to 
publish his poems, for which his friends had subscribed. 
Hardly were thej- known, when it became necessary to 
renew the edition on a larger scale; and soon his reputa- 
tion had spread all over the land. He wrote now exten- 
sively in prose and in rhj-me, and the gains of his literary 
work enabled him to travel all through Europe and Asia 
Minor; and, as often as he returned, he gave the reading 
world a stor\' depicting the country he had seen, full of the 
most admirable humor and pathos. 

Renter has some similarity with the great Robert Burns ; 
also in respect to the unfortunate love of stimulants, — a 
vice he contracted while in prison. He describes his mode 
of life there in one of his works, named "Ut mine Festungs- 
tid." When the taste of drink had sway over him, he be- 
came insensible to an\'thing else, and remained thus for a 
fortnight ; after which he sobered down and returned to 
his tasks with renewed vigor, and enchanted his countr}'- 
men with the pearls from his spiritual treasure vault. He 
built for himself a palace at the foot of the famous Wart- 
burg, near Eisenach(where Luther has translated the Bible( 
and there died not long ago. 

The following translations are selections from his minor 
vk'orks, but a fair specimen of his st3'le. If time and health 
permit, I hope to be able to reproduce one of his prose 
pieces, selected with the view of pleasing the taste of the 
English speaking people. 

Fritz Renter enjoys the distinction of being one of the 
German poets in whose honor a statue has been erected in 
America, which may be seen in Lincoln Park, Chicago. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 105 



IT IS STEADILY GROWING WOESER IN THE 
WORLD. 

Old Mother Sohultz is sinking fast; 
Rut, eire her soul in death finds rest, 
She'ld like to talk with Reverend Raker, 
And die in Peace with Christ, hev Maker. 
And of late her sorrows had been many ; 
She oft waiS sick and hadn't a pennj^ 
The priest arrives. He tells the poior, 
To die is hard, the fact is sure, 
But soon she'll be among the blest; 
Foi", aftei" all, in Heaven 'tis best, 
And here, on Earth, himself must own, 
Things haven't of late much better gTown, — 
Nay, worse and worse are getting hourly. 
"Thea'efoi'e, to Heaven turn thy mind. 
In Heaven alone tho'U rest Avilt find!" 
"Yea," said the sick, "thus thought I surely 
In Paradise to be the case; 
Of late, however, the people says, 
In Heaven also a change took place." 



HOW DIDST THOU GET IN? 

"What, in the dickens! Do I trust mine eyes, 
Or isn't this Jochen of Gross-Woldenweiss? 
Hello, dear boy, hast thou at last come down? 
Oome, sit by me, and take a drop, my son." 
"No; let me where I am yet stand a while." 
"Friend Jochen, say, art with thine team in town?" 
"No." 

^'PTiobably thou hast made on foot that mile?" 
"No." 



10(> OATHERIvI) HY THE WAV. 

"Purely, then, on horscbiuk it hiis been?" 

"X(t." 

"Not on horse? Not (lnvin<>? Not on font? 

IIow, in tlie ilevi], then, didst thou oet in?'' 

"I led a steer to town I'd sold to Groot." 



THE HELP. 

"I hardly think we brinj^- this hay 
Into the barn, uiy friend, to-day; 
No, no, we cannot brin<>- it in," — 
Says peasa.nt A'oss to ('a,rl Kolpien. 
It wa,s on his farm, near t^tolp, •where she 
Lies drows'ly by the lialtic Sea. 
"Yehann! Yehann!" he tlnnulers then, 
"\A'here, in the dickens, is thiat man?" 
He looks aronnd, he yells once more, 
J^nt no one answers to his roair. 
At last the missed one says, "lleHoI" 
And sticks his head ont from the stxa-w. 
"What do ye want? Whom call ye for?" 
"Where hast thon been this laist half hour? 
What didst thon do on that there staick?" 
"Oh, nothinjj;-, sir, I lay on the back. 
I'd eaten at lunch my waisit too- full. 
And thought to have a noon-day lull." 
"Rut where i.s CMshan?" Yoiss then said. 
And from the straw peeped out that head. 
"AVhat haist thon done on thait there heap? 
Where hast th(m been since dinner-time?'' 
"Oh, notliing, sir," .ssiid Christian lleim, 
"Yehann Avas there; I helped him sl('<'p." 



GATHERED DY THE WAY. 107 

KEVERSED. 

'Tis twelve o'clock. Old Pawu sliop Flanters 

Sits at his dinuier-table, ami a goose 

Before him stamls, when Isaiac Joel enters 

His (liniiig-rooiii, aiml says: "God bless, Freind 

ilose, 
Tlii'ue liome, God bless thine meal at noon. 
Bni what is tliis? By Abraham! So' soon? 
Is tliis already of the geeise? Look, loiok! 
JDiiiht days, and oiit they are from smoke? 
Mine Sai-ah liardly does't so quick. 
Loi'd Israel's, a goose smoked in a week!" 
Old Moises feels a, littile 'restless, 
Tliat just at noon amved a guest lias, 
-\nd of the bird Ike Jo'l to taiste is. 
Ilowe'er, it wouldn't do to sliglit him, 
And he coaicludes he must invite liim. 
"Come, sit thee down, and tiake n slice," 
lie says to him with a faltering voice. 
"Am sorry, cainniot; eat, aJrciaidy liad 
My luncheon at mine Uncle' Bice; 
A so'up, green peas, and beef we ate." 
"Don't mind thine dinner; taiste a. bit." 
"I really hungi-y am n't a whit; 
But, since thou pressest me ssio hard, 
I'll taste a slice," says Jo'l, and takes his seat 
Next to old Flanters, at the dining-board. 
And Ike is now in a taisting fit: 
"By God, tliis bird is aAvful juicy! 
Much sweeter tlian'niy Sliabba-s gooisie!" 
Anid Isaac tiaistew and tastes with a Avill, 
And uses knife and fcn-k with so much skill 
That soon the whole juicy goose is gone. 
Anil ni)thing 's left but its bare bone. 



108 GATHKRED BY THE WAV. 

"Oh, weih," cried Moses, "that's too stark! 
Thou art a champion taster as I mark. 
Foi* the f iKture, hear, wha.t mine advice is : 
Eat dinner here, aiid taste at Kice's." 



A LITTLE DIFFEKENT. 

"Say, Jochen, dost thoiii niow a.gi'ee 

With tihine new boss. Lieutenant Zeh?" 

Fred Luthei''s asking Oonirade Hoehn. 

"Oh, yes; the worst is neaa-ly over; 

But every morning Ave do cm^er 

Each other's jaiclcet with a came, 

And by the collar have each other, 

And hit and hit. That's all. Friend Luther." 

"Thou thocais'h thine Herr? Is that possible? 

What thoii there sayst seems incredible!" 

"It's as I said, but a bit of difference 

There is, of course, in tine perforaiance; 

I cane his coat while he is goce. 

When I'm in mine ITis caneing's done." 



THE HEADACHE. 

"Good morning, sir. What medicine would sure 
One who's ailed with a, headache cure?" 
"A headache? That's a sickness a.pt to kill 
A steer. I'll give thee something, I distil 
From Indian herbs, the pain will soothe," — 
The druggist said to the peaisaut-youth. 
"Buit come, my son, and sit thee down, 
Thjou airt, no doubt, from Sugarbown?" 
"Yeis, siir, I serve at Philip's, and do chore." 
"But, say, is thie beadaiohe real bad?" 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 109 

" 'Tis very bad, and even mox'e, 

It's apt to make a person mad." 

"So come, a.nd do whait I advise. 

Shut tight the lids of thine blue eyes. 

That's it! Correct ! Niow stick thy noise 

As deep thou canst into this bottle white. 

Thus! Thus! Now 'tis alright. Keep closie! 

Now smell of it with all thy might." 

The country lad has promptly acted 

As he was told by Mister Sponge; 

Drew breath with nostrils tight contracted, 

And Bump! fell backward on the lounge. 

He lay unconscious there till noon. 

When he awakened from the swoon. 

The dcniggist saiid : "I trust, my sou, 

Thine headache now for a while is gone." 

"Oh, sir!" him answer gave the swain, 

"Not I, Miss Philip, had the pain." 



REVEKENCE FOE HIS DUKESHIP'S COAT. 

'N old noible, by the name of Fred 

Von Itzen-Klas'S, lived on his land. 

From forefathers inherited, 

A country seat, its soil no sand, 

Full marshes, forests spread all over, 

And fields of wheat and rye and clover. 

A lord brought up to husbandi'y 

He was, a man we scarce now see, 

Of sterling honesty a lover. 

One morn, when eveffything was growing. 

He's loath to note a team was going 

Across his finest piece of clover; 

An early bird, to him unknown. 

But still to be discovered soon. 



110 GATHKREI) IIY THK WAY. 

Our nolilomaii went out to watcli, 

The malefactor bound to catch; 

An<l sure ennui'-li lu^ cau<iht the wretch. 

It was Duke Ludwiji's serf, — -a match 

For ])eop]e wout theiir backs to bcmd 

Before such fellows, revea'ent', — 

But not for Klass. The chap he seized. 

At tirst with all his force him squee/xnl, 

And then did raise the knotty cane, 

To thrash him with all mig-ht and main. 

The ti-espasiser, to smooth the man's 

Far more than tol'rable vehemence. 

Addressed him, with "n expi-esisive f;lance 

At his green coat: "More reverence 

For's Dukesihip's livery, Herr ^on Klass." 

But there he sore mistaken was. 

"What," cried Von Klaiss, "impert'neut a«s! 

Tliou'rt trying me, a lord, to bluff? 

Now take tJiis here, and hei'e one more." 

And slapped his face, until enough 

The cul]irit had. "Now thou art sure 

What thou received hast on thy snout 

AA^iis meant for thiee, not for thy coat." 



THAT'S HIM. 

There are some men wlno have their fray 
With everybody whom they meet. 
And never are contented they 
Until they're lying on the -street. 
Corl Stenker was a bird like this. 
He never felt when home at ease; 
But where distui-bance ever was 
You can be sure hie wais its canse. — 
C)ne e\-e at Stargard was a ball, 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. Ill 

And what this meant is known to all. 

All thii'oug-h the night they there did dance, 

And those no more on the feet could stand 

Damced on their heads or with their hands. 

It thns went on till night was spent. — 

Now, as the morning sun appears, 

Corl Stenker sends for 's servant. There, 

The coachman waits with a double pair 

Until the hall of feasters dear's. 

The coachman waits, he knows wherefore. 

He knows the manner of his lor'. 

Then shufHles some one down the stair. 

The waiter siays: "That is thine Herr." 

"No,"" says Yehann,* "that isn't my boss. 

He drinks yet grog; he walks not thus."' 

Then comes one SAvifter moving down. 

"Take heed," the Avaiter, "that's thine own." 

"No," siays the coachman, "that's not his, 

He has another step than this; 

It isn't mine Herr, I know him better." 

On a sudden there is noise, a scuttle, 

A holloing, ein DonnerAvetter! 

Then cries Yehann: "Quick, o]ien, Stoffel!" 

And pulls tlie reins Avith all his A'im. 

"Now, tliroAV him in, for that is Him." 



CORRECT ARITHMETICS. 

Inkeeper Welz stands at the door 
Of his saloon, and rubs his hands. 
Then comes his neighbor. Grocer Fuhr, 
And bids him cheer; for they are friends. 
"Co'me in," says Welz, "it is till noon 
Yet hbalf an hour; Ave'll then be done 
With a little play of sixty-six. 



112 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Or seven-up, or a game with tricks." 

"Ob, no," says Fulir, "I die of thirst, 

Let have a glaiss of wine me first." 

"Play thou thine game, and drink on top. 

Come in, let's play a seven-up." 

And this is done. The winner's host, 

And Stephen Fuhr two dimes has lost. 

But, being in a hum'rous mood. 

He says to Welz: "Thine wine is good; 

Two dimes a price extremely fair. 

Two dimes I lost; that makes us square." 

Old Welz is scratching 'hind his ear. 

"Yes," says he, "thou hast figured just. 

Two dimes the wine, two dimes thou'st lost; 

That is correct. It makes thee clear." 

He's left, however, in siome doubts. 

He figures o'er the groceir's bill, 

And, as old Fuhr has crossed the sill. 

He back is called by Welz with shouts : 

"How, in the devil, Steve, canst thou 

Thine foolish joking not forego? 

If I to reckon able be. 

Here are two^ dimes; they're dueto thee." 



ON WHAT? 

"My darling Liz," says Mother Hecht, 
"I'm tired to see so long thee dragged 
Around by cobbler Jacob Hoird. 
To a marriage are some means required. 
And thou hast nix, and he has nothing. 
Out of this wool cam oome no stocking. 
Thou well a richer one couldst get. 
To take such beggar there's no hurry. 
On what, prithee, ye're going to wed?" 
"On Easter, Ma, we thought Ave'ld marry." 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 113 

OUR SCHOOLMAN ON HIS BOOKS IS SMART, 
BUT WILLY GETS OF HIM THE START. 

The scliool inspeetoir, Mister Blaiissit, 

Starts out the country 'round to A'isit, 

To see how much the kids advanced are 

In reading, writing, proper spelling, 

Ai'ithmetic, and Goispel-telliug. 

He comes to a town that called is: Fenster, 

Not full two miles off Papendick. 

He finds th,e jDupils there quite Aveak; 

One boy, 'tis chiefly, William Flossing, 

Who's foo' as straAV, knows nearly nothinji 

And, every time Avhen asked a query. 

He's fing'ring helpless in his hairy. 

Of which on's head he has a forest. 

Enough, he's 'moiagst the kids the poorest; 

And, to demonstrate through 'n example, 

Blockheadedness, incarnate, bare, — 

To imitate 't wouldn't be fair, — 

He's shown the children ais a sample. 

Herr Blissit's done when noonday chimes. 

He leaves the village just betimes 

To reach at tAvo another quairter 

And give a schoolma'm there a starter; 

But, as Jiis coach hais passed the bridge. 

He meets two roads, and which is which 

He does not know. He sees a chappie, 

Shoeless, redhaired, on's top a cappie; 

It's Flo'ssing's William, hale and happy, 

A¥ho's guairding thei'e a flock of geese. 

"My boy," says Bliss't, "Avhat roads we these? 

And which one shall I have to folloAv 

To come direct to SAvedish Hollow?" 

The laddie looks at liim aiskaece; 



■1 



114- GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Then laughs, and thus his answer runs: 

"See here, ye were so wise this morn. 

As were all knowledge with ye born, 

Or ye had swallow'd Leipzig College, 

And all her lore were in yer belly; . 

And now, at once, ye act so silly; 

Ye're asking Me, Carl Flossing's Billy, 

For a road that leads to a neighb'ring village.'' 



HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN ? 

"What, Jochen, art thou standing there. 
And shtarest, and scratchest in thine hair?" 
Asks Fei'd'nand Kloss his neighbor Hort, 
"Why, Brother? Look, I'm always shoo^ 
On thousand brick mj- fifty pieces. 
'Twas yesterday the same, when Reece's 
1 brought of this darned turf a load; 
I must have lost some on the, road." 
"Such things may happen, lieber Freind." 
"Well, yes," says Joch, "I should not mind; 
But, Ferd'nand, see, what most I wonder 't, 
I'm ahvays sihoii; on the last one hundred." 



BON JOUR, BON JOUR. 
"Good morning, Neighbor Kluhr. Oh, tell me once. 
There comes this morgen Notai'y Schonz 
Again into my dining room, 
And says to me, Bon Jour, friend Bohm! 
And shtares at me, and looks about. 
And sets himsielf down at the table. 
I've often tried to make it out 
What by that darned wo'rd Bon Jour 
That feller meant, but am not able, 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 115 

And soi to ask of thee't I came." 

"Thou fO'Oliish dog," says Barber Kluhr, 

"Dost tliou not know 'Bon Jour'? For shame! 

Bon Joiur's a word, in fact, too vicious ; 

Bon Jour's a word no hog judicious 

Would dare to Christian folks to offer; 

It's only used 'mong tra.mps and tougher. 

And thou standst by and letst him tell it, 

And hast no courage to repel it? 

■Yea, answerst p'rhaps, with bow and thankee? 

God's thunder, Jochen, go and hang thee!" 

"Is this a fact? Now, come ouce more, 

Thou feller with thine cursed 'Bon Jour,' 

And thou sollst feel my kitchen broom, 

As sicher as my naam is Bohm!" 

"My dear old friend, be not too rash. 

Thxju must not get into la fuss, 

And, chiefly, with such learned a cuss. 

Who legal straw is wont to thrash. 

No, listen! When again he's there. 

And says as he has done before, 

'My dear friend Bohm, bon jour, bon jour!' 

No other answer thou must give. 

But simply say, 'Votre serviteur,' 

And he shall squeal, as sure's I live !" 

"Now, wait," says Bohm, "I hereby swear. 

Dost mit 'Bon Jour' come in my shop 

Once more, I'll put it on thine kop 

Thou darned old fool, 'Votre serviteur.' " 

Next morn the man of law shows up. 

P^iend Bohm's already on the top 

Of expectation, in his shop. 

"Bon jour, bon jour, dear Master Bohm!" 

The lawyer says when in the room. 

"Bon jour! Bon jour! What is't you say? 



v..^ 



lib GATHERED UY THE WAY. 

^'otl•e serviteur! Yes, slitan.' away! 
(Jnce more, Votre Kin-viteur, I say! 
Come thou agaiu niit tliiue 'Bou jour!' 
"N'otre serviteur! Tlu're is (he dooa'! 
Thine impudence since lonf»' I knew. 
"Now march, and, if not lik'st it, sue." 



THE BLIND COBBLEll BOY. 

"Oh, master, master, wliat a hapless one 

1 am! How do I fare? Oh, ■woe is me! 

Dear maister mine, it's far I'm gone! 

Tlie shortest distance I no moire can Siee." 

Tlie cobbler staiits. He jumps upoTi his feet, 

Throws quick aside his hammer, boot, and last. 

And tow'rds his new apprentice boy runs fast: 

"What is the matter, kid? What ails thee, Pete?" 

"Oh, master, master, mine, just look-a-he. 

The butter on this bread no more I see." 

The boss the slice takes from the tray. 

And looks at with most searching care : 

"So may the Lord the devil slay! 

Nor I can see the butter there. 

But wait a while." T' his Avife he hies. 

And says : "What art thou doing, dearest May? 

Where is here butter on the slice? 

So may the Lord the devil slay!" 

"Is this not good enough for the yoiiith? 

He is but snch a honey-tooth ! 

Our houise and yard devour he would 

If with sweatmeats we feed him should. 

Hold on, hold on, we musit go slow; 

The butter costs acht Groschens now!" 

"My liefest heart, don't get so mad! 

Ilaist thou no cheese for this poor lad?" 



GATHERED BV THE WAY. 117 

And, sure enoiugh, there was soane clheese, 
And Mother Pitch puts on a piece. 
The maister takes the slice of bread, 
And to the workshop back does go, 
Hands it the youth, and asks if now 
His total blindness left him had. 
"Yes, master, yes,'' the imp replies, 
Witliout a pause, "so plain I sees 
As had I speot's afoi'e mine ej^es, — 
I sees the bread all through the cheese." 



THE EIGHT ONE FINALLY GETS IT. 

The old postmaster Frederick Sievers 
Says t' his boy who mail delivers: 
"Hast thou got rid of it, my lad. 
Of that there piece to Schill addressed, 
AVho learns the trade at tailor Vest, 
Whom we to trace such trouble had? 
Didst find the place w'here he lives now?" 
The boy to talk is somewhat slow. 
But finally he says: "Oh, yes; 
But, mit dat brief, the trouble less 
Would sure have been had the address 
Been more correctly stated, I yuess; 
Because at Vest's no one did know" him. 
But further down the street I saw him ; 
And not to th,e right, but left, his home was. 
And not upstairs, but in the cellar; 
Nor does he leami at Vest's a,nd Thomas', 
Oh, no! He boards at Missus Keller. 
His name is not, as you said, Joe Schill, 
No, 'tis Ann, Bridget, Dorothy Chriss; 
And neither is he a tailor's pupil. 
No, Sirrr! 'N old W'asherwH)man 'tis." 



118 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

OH, JOCHING PASS, THOU ART A CAPITAL 

ASS. 



Note 1. — In Germany, Hewtenants of the armj' generally 
belong to the aristocracy, and enjoy the privilege of having 
some of the privates (recruits that are dull intellectually) 
help them in domestic affairs. Such men are called 
"Burschen," for which class of servants we have no ade- 
quate word, unless we use "valet" or "lad." Such a person 
is our Joching of the following story. 

Note 2. — Gnaedig (gracious) Herr or Frau are titles often 
used by people when addressing their superiors. 



Lieutenant Graf von FaJkenstone 
Eetiii'ns from a drill, unties has snbel. 
Takes oif his field-cap, and sits down 
On a chair behind his "working table." — 
He properly so naiuies 't, because it 
Is ahvays used to e«t, carouse at. 
For a game of fario with some friend. 
Or other kinds of maiitial pleasure, 
To while away his houns of leisure, 
Of which he had a goodly measure; 
On a sly, of course, as it might tend 
To damage him Avith his superiors, 
Gommanders of his reg'iment. 
Who closely ■\\atch and reprimand, 
And often punish their inferiors. — 
And as the Graf there sits a while, 
His eyes fall on a gilded card 
Engraved in a fine, artistic fashion, 
That's lying on his letter pile; 
It seems to be an invitation. 
He reads it and jumps up with a start. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 119 

Aud Ms white face gTows crimsoin-hot. 

"Oil, hapless man! Oh, cruel lot!" — 

This elegant I'epa-st. with her, the Frau 

Von Di'mond, of whom people know 

That in the noblest stjde she liA'es, 

Her friendis the richest parties gives; 

And in an hour, "alas, alas!" 

To a neig'hb'ring- town to march he has. 

Him more to vex, the lady named 

His sweetheaa-t is, her beauty famed, 

A widow rich, his soul's whole bliss. 

"Ach Goitt, aind such a chance to misis!" 

Jl& fain would 've sat there, tete-a-tete, 

Have quaffed her Avines, and eaten her meat, 

(For heart's hot tire and stomach's pang. 

Like twins, in his breast to-gether clang); 

But there's no help, he must obey. 

"King's service hais the upper sway!" — • 

For Joching, his Burschen, he does ring, 

And says to him : "Go quick, and bring 

This message to the noble lady, 

The Gracious Frau von Diamond, 

The dame thiis card to-day has semt; 

Tell her to march I'm getting ready. 

And therefore caniiiot call on her. 

But here, at home, to dine jH'efer." 

And, to make sure, he adds: "Verstandst du das?" 

"Ya, ya, Herr Graf," says Joching Pass, 

And on his heel he turns, and's gone. 

But, hardly hais he crossed the hall, 

A thought strikes Herr -\-on Falkenstone. 

The window opening, he does call: 

"And bring my lunch with thee along!" — 

And Joching Pass comes with his mission 

To the lady's home. "What is thy wish, son?" 



120 GATHKRED BY THE WAY. 

She asks in a voice soft as a soiifi'. 

"My iiiasteT sends his coniplinient 

To Gracious l^ady Diamond; 

And whiat my gracious master is, 

He caumot dine here, 'cause he i« 

Compelled, in an hour, for the neighborhood 

To leave, -where they have stolen wood; — 

And there is riotous folke's home, — 

And they aiTest will of them some, — 

Ami that is why Herr Graf not come." 

"I much regret, 1 really grieve," 

The lady saj^s, and thinks he'll leave; 

But Joching like a fence-post stands, 

And tAvist-s his field-ciaip with his hands. — 

Slie asks him why he ling-el's here; 

His master's waitiug; noon is ueaa'. 

"The lunch," he says, "I'm told to bring." 

The dame to joke is but too prone. 

And answers him, "Xow stay, my son, 

Here yet a while;" her bell does ring; 

And, when her footman enters, she commands 

To lill a basket with the very best 

Her larder holds, for the »hould-be guest, 

And says to Joching: "Now make haste, 

And bring this home." The lad is trotting hence, 

His mind at ease that this prompt acition 

Will be t' his maister's satisfaction. — ' 

His lord sat tbere already waiting, 

Misfortune on his humor grating. 

"NoAV," said he, "will there come ag'ain 

The eternal sioup, that poirk, that veal 

Of him, mine host, the caterer Swain. 

To be by Madame Diamond invited, 

That fairy, beautiful and sweet, 

AVhose meals my soul so oft delighted. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 121 

And til en be forced coaaise food to e&t, — 

That grub of MonSiieur Swain to swallow; 

"Bei Gott, that is too shallow, shallow!" 

But soon he feels quite comfortable, 

The lunch is reaQlj^ palatable; 

Such never before received he has. 

There's turkej^ roast, of cake no lack, 

Ice-cream, some grapes, and Schweitzer-Kase, 

And even a flaisk of genuine Sec! 

"Yes, that's a dinner, that is meat. 

As foa' a waiirior it is meet 

Who is pirepaflfed pale death to greet, 

And, ere he dies, oaice nwre does eat!" 

He asks his chap if Mister Swain 

A maiT-'iage festival hais had. 

Or whether the catei'er's wife again 

In childbed was ? 'No," says the lad, 

"It is froim her.'' — "Wheaie is it from?" 

"From Frau von Di'mond it is come, 

A& you have said, I got it thenoe." — 

Now our lieutenant's rage isn't man's ! 

He up and down, like a lion, runs. 

He swears, he yells, like thunder-storm, 

And without mercy him offends, 

That meek and honest human worm, — 

Q'hat poor and innocent Joching Pass, — 

And says he is the biggest ass 

He ever saw yet on two legs 

To craAvl around ; and leave he begs 

To state, should there be once a chance 

That one as 'n ox to use him intends. 

To break with him a garden fence. 

Not he, his gracious master, it should hinder! — • 

But every clog raves but a time. 

And even lieutenant's wrath is lime 



122 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

That 'vaporates; it slackens kinder. 

Thus Falkenstone's also cools off. 

He calls his man somewhat less rough, 

And says: "There is two Thalers. Understandst 

Thou me this time, thou cap'tal asa?" 

"At your command!" stays Joching Pasis. — 

"Now, take this cash, and forthwith go 

To the confectionei' Butterdoug'^h. — 

Didst fully comprehend, thou aiss?" 

"At your command!" ag'ain says Pass. — 

"Buy one of those elatoonaite cakes 

He for his wealthy custom bakes, 

And bring it to the dame benign 

Where I invited was to dine; 

And tell her, the moist gnaedige Frau, 

The whole town thee ais 'n ass does know. 

And she may paa'dom thy mistake; 

And if sihe'll pleased be with this cake 

But half as much as when I ate 

The paistry, ice-cream, grapes, and meat . 

Which she so kindly here has seoit, 

^J joy would be beyond command. — 

Didst undei"stand, thou foolish ass?" 

"At your command!" once mone says Pass. — 

And Joching on his errand goes. 

Well minding what him told his boss. 

"My Gi-aicious HeiT sends compliment 

To Gracious Lady Diamoiud," — 

"What bringst thou here, my honest lad?" 

"And tell her, the most gnaedige Frau, 

The whole town thee as 'n ass does know,"^ — 

"Now keep thy peace, all is now straight." 

"And she may pardon thy mistake, — 

And in this box there is a cake, — 

My Gracious Lady Diamond, — 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 123 

My joy will be beyond command!" 

"Now, be at rest," she laughing said, 

"And tell Lientenant Falkenstone, 

•If he and I once more here met, 

We'll have this matter settled soon. 

And here take this," sihe adds, does give 

A Th aler him, and thinks he now should leave. — 

But Joching seems not yet content. 

And looks at the money so intent 

As though he'd never seen a piece 

That looked just like the one he sees. 

"What waitst thou for, my honest face?" 

At last the lady, wondering, says, 

"Now everything seems in its place." 

"No," answers -Joching, "that's not so; 

That cake did cost us Thalers two." 



THE GEAVES ON THE LAWN. 

From the "Journey to Belgium." 

Prom the tent Off high Heaven the sun shineth 

d'CTO'n, 
And tenderly kisses the graves on the lawn, 
And sends thosea message who slumber below, 
How souls in the Eden in blessedness grow. 



And he that there rests in the grave sand, he hears. 
And whispers its tidings the wind in the ears; 
And the wind gently cradles on flowers and leaves, 
And brings them the news from the dead it re- 
ceives. 



124 GATHERED UV THE WAY. 

Aud the ilmvers are raising to the sky their fair 

head, 
Aud tell it the bees what the zephyr has said; 
Aud the bees, tJiey the hummiing a soft little song, 
And utter their message the bell chimes among. 



And hearst tliou the bells on the church tower ring, 
Remember a greeting from Heaven they bring, 
Aud follow their summons, liow near or how far, 
"NA'ith tlieii- strokes foi' a prayer iuA^iting they are. 

Whetliei- honey bees hum, whether flower cups 
bloom, 

Whether grass-blades be verdant, the summer- 
winds roam. 

Whether sunbeams with tenderness shine on thee 
down : 

All point with their hands at the grave on the lawn. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 125 



HEINKICH HEINE. 



Heinrich Heine was born at Dusseldorf, on the Rhine, of 
Jewish parents, in the New Year's night of 1801, which 
circumstance gave him occasion to claim, in a jocose man- 
ner, that he is the first man of his century. In 1830 he 
converted to Protestantism, together with his friend 
Boerne and other IsraeHtes, it being then difficult for a Jew 
to become a member of the aristocratic circles of Berlin, to 
which literary men like Humboldt, Fichte, and others be- 
longed, or for reasons not known. In 1839, conse- 
quent to measures adopted by the Holy Alliance against 
"Young Germany," as the champions of freedom and litera- 
ture were then called, he emigrated to Paris, which became 
his .permanent home ; and after being sick for five years fin 
which time he wrote that most remarkable cycle of poems, 
•'Lazarus"), and blind for two j'ears more, he died in 
1857. He received a pension of three thousand dollars or 
so from the French government, under Louis Philip, on ac- 
count of his sympathy with the genius of that nation and 
the great Napoleon. He wrote, however, against the King 
who paid him this sum ; so independent a man he felt him- 
self to be. 

The main character of his writings is cruel sarcasm for 
everything which is low and mean, coupled with sympathy 
for all that is beautiful or sublime; and, though he some- 
times transgresses the line of decency (for which he has 
been more than abundantly blamed and hated), he recon- 
ciles our heart by a felicitous wit, and an earnestness of 
feeling when speaking against oppression. His poems on 
slavery rival with anything English or American poets 
have produced. In his insight of the natural, and express- 
ing it in adequate terms, he is not equaled by any German, 
Goethe and Renter perhaps excepted. I give the reader 
here a few of his lyrics which are known to every educated 
man who speaks the German language. 



126 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAR. 

I. 

By the window sat the mother; 
The son still resting was. 
"Wilt thou not dress thee, William, 
To see the pilgrims pass?"' 

"1 am so sick, oh mother, 
That I can't see, nor hear. 
I think of dead little Gretchen, 
And my heart is breaking near." 

"Get up, let's go to Kevlar; 
Take book and rosary. 
The mother of Christ will cure thee. 
Thy soul from sorrow fi'ee.'' 

There ily in the breeze the churchfliags, 

There sounds a pious tune; 

It is the holy procession 

That marches through Rhenish Cologne. 

In the crowd the mother is walking. 
Her darling son by her hand; 
They chant in the choir together, 
'Traise Mary all o'er the land." 

II. 

The mother of Christ at Kevlar 
To-day wears her gaudiest dress; 
She has to-day all her hands full. 
Has numbers of people to bless. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 127 

There come a great niauy suffrers; 
On the altar they-re c-oming to spread 
Many gifts of wax manufactured. 
Many limbs of wax that are made. 

And those who a wax hand offer 
On their hand get rid of the sore; 
And those who a foot are bringing 
Can walk as straight as before. 

So many on crutches reached Kevlar 
Who dance on a rope nowadays; 
So many play now on the fiddle 
Who no more a finger could raise. 

The mother a candle of wax took, 
And kneaded it into a heart: 
"'Bring this the mother of Jesus, 
And healed forever thou art." 

The son took, sighing, the wax heart ; 
"Fore the heavenly image bent. 
Big tears o'er his cheeks were running, 
Deep pray'rs from his heart up went : 

"Thou holy, Thou rever-enced Virgin, 
Of Christ Thou Servant-maid, 
Eternal Queen Thou of Heaven. 
Oh, hear my story sad I 

"I live with my aged mother 
In a town that's named Cologne, 
A place which for its great number 
Of churches and chapels is known. 



m 



128 GATHERIiD BY THE WAY. 

"There, dose to us, lived Gretcben; 
She died a month ago. 
I bring thee a Avaxen heart here, — 
Sooth thou my nameless woe. 

"Sootli thou my .soul's gTeat anguish! 
I day and night Avill spend, 
Will pi'ay and chant forevei*, 
Praise Mary all o'er the land." 

III. 

When William next mom, with his mother, 
In the sleeping room did rest. 
There came — a silent shadow — 
God's mother, as 'n early guest. 

She bent her head o^er the sleeper, 
And laid on his breast her hand; 
She looked at him and smiled. 
And again, like a shadow, went. 

The mother, meanA\hile, was dreaming. 
She saw in her dream a shroud. 
She sudden awoke from her slumber; 
The dogs were howling so loud. 

There lay her sou on the pillow. 
In him was life no more; 
The morning sun, in his gloi-y. 
Shone bright on his face as of yore. 

The mother on her knees fell weeping; 
She knew now what it meant; 
She folded her hands in devotion: 
"Praise Mary all o'er the land." 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 121» 



NAPOLEON'S GRENADIEES. 

Two soldiers were marching to Paris, their home, 
War captives teturniDg from Eussia; 
With dowu-cast heads, their hearts in gloom, 
The}' entered their quarters in Prussia. 

'T was there tliey were told the fearful news 
Of their countrs^'s loss, the disruptured 
Great army of France, its many woes, 
And the lot of tliedr Emp'ror captured. 

And both together began to cry, 
'Pon hearing the direful story. 
Spoke sad the one: "My death is nigh; 
My wound is renewing its fury." 



The other said: "The end has come, 
With thee to die I languish ; 
But wife and child I have at home, 
Who'll die from care and anguish." 



"For wife and cliild, what do I care! 
For higher desires I have reason; 
Let them go and beg when they hungry are. 
My Emp'ror, my Emp'ror, in prison! 



"Comply, dear brother, with one request. 
WJien tliou wilt see me perished, 
My corpse remove to France, the blessed. 
And bury 'n the soil me, the cherished. 



130 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

"With the cross of houor attached to my breast, 
The s^voi-d in my right, array me; 
The belt with the sheath tie round my waist 
Thus shalt in the coffin thou lay me. 

"Thus shall I lie buried and listen there, 
— A silent watch in the graveyard, — 
The cannons' roai" until I hear, 
HoiTse galloping loud of our vanguard. 

"I'hen rideth the Emp'ror, perchance, o'er my 

grave, 
Many swords from their sheaths are starting; 
Then rise I, in war array, out of my grave. 
The Emp'ror, the Emp'ror, guarding." 



BY THE SEA. 

In the ev'ning's latest purple beams 
The mighty sea did glisten; 
We sat on shore, in silent dreams, 
T' her ceaseless roar to listen. 

A mist arose, the sea wave swelled, 
The sea gull past us, calling. 
When I thine eyes in love saw melt, 
And tears from them were falling. 

I saw them fall on thy soft hand. 
And on my knee 1 bended; 
And with the moist on thy white hand 
My fiery lips I blended. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 131 



Since yon sad liour death is my fate; 
My soul deep anguish filleth. 
Thy love-tear, tliou unf ortun'te maid. 
Like poison, my body killeth! 



LOTUS FLOWER. 

The lotus flower trembles 
In tlie sun's hot, withering beam ; 
She dreams, with downcast forehead. 
Of the coming night a dream. 

The nig^ht star is hea* lover. 
He wakes heo* by his rays ; 
And she unveils before him 
Her pious flower face. 

She blowis, she glows, she shiueth, 
And gazes at the height, 
She sighs and weeps and trembles 
At the sight of his radiantlight. 



FISHER MAIDEN. 

Thou charming fisher maiden, 
Oh, row thy boat to the land! 
Ccime, let us sit together 
Here, cozily, hand-in-hand. 

Lean on my breast thy forehead, 
And be not afraid of me. 
Dost not intrust thee daily 
Feairless the angry sea? 



132 GATIIEREO IIY THE WAY. 

My heart is like tlie Ocean, 
Has quiets, stonns, aud titles; 
Ami many a, pearl lull beauty 
Its boundless deep abides. 



ON A LOVE SONG'S WINGS. 

On a love song's wings let me cam- 
Thee, Idol of my soul! 
To the GangCiS' vale, where we tan-y 
On a spot most beautiful. 

There, hid behind golden grating. 
Rich flow'rs in the moonbeams thrive; 
The lotus blossom's waiting 
For her sister blithe to arrive. 

Blue vi'lets aa-e playing together. 
And gaze at the stars' misty veil; 
Rose blossoms whisper t' each other 
A fanciful, fragrant tale. 

To their magical stoiw listens 
The gentle gazelle, bounding nigh; 
The huri-ying waves in the distance 
Send up their voice to the sky. 

TJiere let on the grass cushion sink us, 
O'er which slender palm branches bend; 
Let love and quiet there drink us, 
Aud dream of a bliss not to end. 



GATHERED BY THE WAV. Ic 

THOU Airr LIKE A FLOWEEET. 

How sweet a little floweret, 

How without guile thou art ! 

I look at thee, aud sadness 

Thrills throoiarh and through my heart. 



I feel as though on thy forehead 
I ought to lay my hand, 
Praying that God thee forever 
May keep so innocent. 



134 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 



JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE. 



Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was born in Frankfort on 
the Main in 1759, of well-to-do parents. His father once 
held an office in the town council, which at this time was 
considered a great honor, as the city occupied an independ- 
ent position in the Holy Roman Empire (she was " Eine 
Freie Reichsstadt"), and was called on this account " Herr 
Rath." 

Goethe's earliest poetical works, especially his " Goetz 
von Berlichingen," drew the whole German nation's at- 
tention to his person ; and thus Duke Carl August of Saxe 
Weimar became his patron, and made him prime minister 
of his land, which office and dignity he held until his death, 
in 1832. His body lies in the vault under the so-called 
" Dichterzimmer " at Weimar, in the same sarcophagus in 
which his bosom friend, Schiller, rests. His dwelling house 
in that city is still owned b}' his posterity; and the house 
wherein he was born also exists, and now belongs to the 
Schiller Verein, a society which collects relics of great 
poets. The works and life of this most wonderful of all 
bards have been extensively described. The literature thus 
produced would cover the whole area of Saxe- Weimar, and 
even more. The main feature of his style is simplicity, as 
Nature's self, to whose sources he turned, and whereby he 
enchants everybody. The two parts of his immortal 
drama, " Faust," range as high as Shakespeare's Hamlet, 
on account of their cosmopolitan character. 

The following three translations are rendered into Eng- 
lish in their original meter. The Pupil of Magic is pro" 
verbial in Germany. It was written when the Revolution 
ofl789wasat its height, and depicts, in a graphic way, 
anarchists of France, like Robespierre and others, who 
could not stop the disturbance they had caused, and had 
to let it have its sway until a strong hand was 'found to 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 135 

suppress it. It shows how little influenced Goethe was by 
the universal cry of "Egalite." He considered the whole 
witches' dance as a phase that would outlive itself soon, 
though he very well knew what want meant, as he so 
beautifully expresses it in his renowned verses: 

"Wer nie sein Brod mit Thranen asz, . 

Wer nie die kummervollen Nachte 
An seineni Bette weinend sasz, 

Der kennt Euch nicht, Ihr Himmelsmachte." 



13(> OATHKRF.I) BY THE WAV. 



inriL OF MAGIC. 



The olfl magician, Avatc-hful ever, 
Has at last from home departed; 
And now shall his spirits clever 
Ouce by me for work be started. 

Every sign, eaeli >vord, I 

Watc'lied have, and their nse; 

And, my will's sole lord, I 

Wonders, too, produce. 
"Wander, Avauder, 
Being airy, 
Never Aveary ! 
From the river 
Water to the basin yonder. 
For a bath enough, deliver!" 

Come, old shaggy broom, get ready! 
By this garb my serf I make thee. 
Thou wert always true and steady; 
Now to Avorks of mine betake thee. 

On two legs stand upright, 

With a head on top. 

Go and fetch, thou hell sprite, 

Water to our shop. 
"Wander, Avander, 
Being airy. 
Never Aveary! 
From the river 
Water to the basin yonder, 
For a bath enough, deliver!" 



GATHERED IIY THE WAY. 1.'57 

To the stream his course he's bending. 
Now, forsooth! he's down the border. 
Quick as fire, the heaven rending, 
He returns, — obeys the order. 

Now, with other strides, he 

Thither, hither, flies; 

And the tide besides me 

Makes a lake in size. 
"Soft, thou spirit, 
Talie thy leisure ; 
Thou didst measui^e 
Liberally." 

Mercy! I forgot, I fear it, 
By what word to stop his sally ! 

Woe, the word 'pon which his former 
Soulless life he recommences, 
Slipped my mem'ry. "Stay, thou Stormer! 
Broom, give up thine awful dances!" 

Lo, his speed increasing, 

lluns he to and fro ! 

Torrents, no more ceasing, 

Over me do flow. 
Never longer 
I can stand it; 
I must end it! 
It's pernicious! 

How his limbs grow strong and s.tronger! 
What a face! W^hat looks malicious! 



"Hell's, thou ofif spring. Ghost confounded! 
Wilt thou overthrow the dwelling? 
Thou'st in water nearly drowned it; 
See, the bath to a sea is swelling. 



138 GATHERED I)Y THE WAY 

Broom, thou must be crazy ; 

Wooden stick of yore, 

Stop, and be as lazy 

As thou Avert before ! 
Demon wretched. 
Discontinue! 
Mark, I've sinew, 
Soon I'll stop thee. 
With the edge of this, my hatchet. 
Into halves, old wood, I'll chop thee!" 

Once again he is approaching; 
Now, forsooth, it's time to hit hiin. 
"To my feet I want thee crouching!" 
With one pow'rful blow I've split him. 

Bravo! It is ended. 

He is cleft in twain; 

All his might is spended, 

Gone my fear and pain. 
Woe me ! Woe me ! 
'Nother servant. 
See, how fervent. 
Tall as towers, 

Both parts rise their skill to show me! 
Help me, ye eternal powers! 

And they run, like madmen raving; 
Into the hall the tide is rolling. 
O'er the threshold, 'pon the paving. 
"Master, master, hear me calling!" 

Lo, he just alighted! 

"Lord, I'm fated ill; 

Ghosts, by me invited, 

Stay against my will!" 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 139 

"Turn to flight thee! 

Watch in former 

Shape thy corner, 

Sweep the stable, 

Broom! To use, as 'n honest sprite, thee, 

Master skills alone are able." 



FOUND IN THE WOODS. 

One idle morning 
To the woods I went; 
To look for nothing 
Was my intent. 

I saw in the shadow 
A violet groms 
As radiant starlight 
Its eyes aglow. 

I wanted to break it, 
But it spoke: "Say, 
Shall I to wither 
Be carried away?" 

With all its rootlets 
I home it took ; 
In the garden I bore it, 
To a quiet nook. 

And planted, again it 

In shadow's rest. 

There stands it and groAvs now, 

In blossoms dressed. 



140 GATHERED BV THE WAY. 



THE WANDEinXG BELL, 

Was once a boy who never went 
To Sunday-school with jjleasure, 
And always found a way to spend 
In the field his liours of leisure. 

I'he niothei' said: "There rings the bell, 
Of churcli she does remind thee; 
And, skipst again thou, come she wdll 
In person once to find thee." 

"The bell hangs safe," so thinks the ckild, 
"AboA'e the church in the tower." 
And for tlie field he makes, as wild 
As boys from school in a shower. 

"The bell, the bell, she chimes no more. 
I think dear mama twaddles. 
But, holy terror, what a roar! 
There comes she. How she waddles!" 

Slie tottiers wild, not real 't seems. 
The boy in a freight is flying; 
Close him behind tlie bell, he deems. 
To cover him is tindug. 

Across the field and marsh he runs 

In quickstep double, triple, 

Through ditch and bog, o'er stone and fence, 

Straight tow'rds the church's steeple. 

And heiaiis he now thje churchbell's voice. 
He's eager to obey her; 
And scarce she's spoken once, he flies 
To Sundaj'-school and prayer. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. I4.I 



FEEDIXANl* FJ^EILIGHATH. 



Ferdinand Freiligrath was born at Dusseldorf ten years 
after Heinrich Heine. In his youth he was a merchant; 
but having published some poetry which made him known 
to the people of Germany, he turned his back upon the 
counter, and devoted himself fully to the literary arts, 
though a poor man. He received a pension from the 
Prussian King, but gave it up in 1848, (when the waves of 
Revolution ran high), and wrote against the government. 
In consequence of his political poen-.s he had to leave the 
land of his birth, and settled in London, where he became 
one of the leading spirits of the German Reform Party. He 
stood on friendly terms with all the persons belonging to 
"Young Germany." He was also intimate with Long- 
fellow, and others of our American literati, and translated 
his "Hiawatha," and Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." 
He also rendered poems of Felicia Hemans, and, from the 
French, of Victor Hugo, Lamartine and others, into his 
native tongue. 

After an absence of nearly twenty-five years, Freiligrath 
received permission to return to his mother country, and 
died at Cannstatt in 1875, having lived long enough" to see 
the dreams ofhis younger years realized in the amalgama- 
tion of the many small sovereignties of the Fatherland into 
one compact body. 

In selecting his subjects, Freiligrath follows the realistic 
school, and loves the ghastly, but reconciles us with the 
frightening pictures of his fancy by a most natural des- 
cription of them, and by the masterly manner in which he 
handles rhvme and meter. 



142 GATHERED BY THE WAV. 



THE KEVENGE OF THE FLOWEllS. 

On liei- white and downy pillows, 
Drest fo^r night, the maid reposes; 
Closed in sleep her silken eyelash; 
On her cheek the tint of roses. 



Nearby, on a wicker table, 
Stands a vase with motley flowers 
Fresihly plucked. Their blossoms' fullness 
Through the room rich odor showers. 

In the narrow little chamber 
Sultry summer heat is brooding; 
Window's closed, and soi is shutter, 
Breezes fresh and cool excluding. 



Silence round and dai'kness hover. 
Suddenly a whisper rises, — 
'Tween the cups, the branches over. 
Hark! what wild, what eager voices! 

From the flower heads there issue 
Ghostlilie beings, vap'rous, airy; 
Hazy, light, their snow-white vesture; 
Golden crowns and shields they carry. 

In the rose's lap a youthful 
Virgin's slender form is seen. 
On her head loose hair-locks flutter; 
Pearls, like dewdrops, flash between. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 143 

Fi'om the aconite's helmed chalice, 
With its rich and dark-green petal, 
Into the air, with sword and head-piece, 
Stalks a knight, full pow'r and mettle. 

Of the silver-plumed heron. 
On his head, a feather trembles. 
Out of the lily steps a maiden. 
Spider-web her hair resembles. 

Out of the martagioin, many-headed, 
Starts a negro, proud advancing; 
O'er his turban green a cresicent's 
Golden bow in the air is damcing. 

From the frittilary wanders 
Forth a king, his scepter swinging; 
Out of the iris blue his hunters 
Follow, heavj'' lances flinging. 

From the leaves of the narcissus 
Leaps a boy with gloomy features. 
To the maid; with fervor kisses 
He the lips, the lov'ly creature's. 

But thro' the room, with swaying motions, 
The others move, the maid surrounding; 
Dancing, they approach her cushions, 
Int' her ear this challenge sounding: 

"Maid, oh, maid, thou from the flow'rbed 
Merciless didst take us hither, 
Where we in this petty potshard 
Languish must, and fade and wither! 



14-+ GATHERED BV THE WAY. 

"Oil, how rested we so bliissful 
On the turf's soft inother-bosoni, 
Where the sun, through tree tops peeping, 
Filled with gold our leaf and blossom! 

"Where the May moa*n's gentle Idsises 
Soft our slender twigs Avere bending. 
Where, as elves, escaped oiir flow'r dress, 
We our moonlit nights were spending! 

"Dew environed us and raindrops! 
Thou broughtst to the slinu^ us hither. 
We must die, but thou, too, perish, 
Ouel maid, before we wither!" 

Thus the}' sing, and o'er the sleeper 
Bow their heads with ireful glances; 
When their song has ceased, the former 
Weird, low whisper recommences. 

What mad voices! What wild lisping! 
How the virgin's cheeks are glo^'ing! 
How tihe ghosts her bed encircle. 
Through the room their breath is flowing! 

Xight departs, the phantoms vanish. 
Sunbeams in the chamber shower; — 
Lo, on the couch the maid is resting 
Cold and stiff, — a lifeless fltnver! 

Like her sisters' faded bodies. 
Her cheeks' color not quite spendeil. 
Lies she there,- — a withered blossom. 
Flowei's scent her life has ended ! 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 145 

THE LION'S KIDE. 

From "Pictures of the Desert." 

Desert's lUiier is the lion. Wlieu Lis mind a trip 

devises, 
From liis lair be wanders forth, to rest 'mong reeds 

of lofty sizes, 
Where gazelles, the tall giraffes, drink, near la- 

go'oiuis, hiis boKly ooAvers. 
Trembling o'er him in the breeze tlie jdane trees' 

rustling foliage towers. 

Ev'iiiugs, when fiiom Cape of IIo])e the motley 

signs ai^e disappea'ring; 
Wheal in negro kraals red fires their changing 

streaks are skyward rearing; 
Wlien the Znlu-Kafir, lone and aimless, roams 

through the karoo ; 
The antelopes in the bushes Imrmless sleep, and 

by the stream the gnu: 

The giiiaffe majestically (»'er (he desert's sandy 

spaces, 
That her tongue in the dim pind's refreshing flood 

she moisten, paces; 
Swiftly 'cross the hot and treeless Avaste she 

stirides; besides the miry 
Basin she kneels down, w'ith outstretched neck, and 

slakes her thirst, the fiery. 

Lo! at (mce, the grass moves, ami her back the roar- 
ing lion covers. 

What a steed! how^ caparisoned! Have you ever 
known horse lovers 



14-6 GATHERED 1!Y THE WAY. 

(King 01" private) rich-cnibroidered trappings in 

tlieir stalls to hide, 
As yon rnnuer's gorgeous liide on wliicli tlie lord 

of beasts does ride? 

lut' the muscles of her neck the linn's greedy tooth 
is boring; 

Iligli above tlie giant horse the rider's golden mane 
is soaring. 

The giraffe jumps up in pain; lier hollow moan 
the night air rends. 

Lo! how she with camels' speed combines the pan- 
ther's elegance. 

See, how on the moonlit level her swift moving 
hoofs she's throwing, 

From their sockets her glazed eyes protrude; dark 
blood profusely's flowing 

From her wounded neck down o'er her spotted 
throat; her heart's sti'ong pounding 

Through the barren, voiceless desert, like a muf- 
fled drum, is sounding. 

As yon cloud which in the Arab's Avilds old Israel 
was leading, — 

Like a deseirt's ghost, a phantom iwile and airy, on- 
ward speeding 

In the form of a whirling trumpet o'er the waste's 
dry, sandy main, — 

Moves of dust a giant-column in their grim and 
ghastly train. 

Over them the culture flutters, croaking in his 

rav'nous manner; 
On their heels the hyena's marching, — she, the 

grave yards' cruel profaner; 



GATHERED BY THE WAV. 147 

Moves tlie panther, who ou the headlaud's herds 

with murd'roiis tooth was feeding; 
Blood and sweat show them the path o'er which 

his prey their liing is leading. 

Filled with fear they see on a living throne their 

king and master sitting; 
See him, with his iron claws, his seat's brow^n-dot- 

ted cushion splitting. 
Restless the giraffe must bear him, Avith her powers 

slowly waning; 
'Gainst such rider vain is kicking, rearing, vain her 

muscle-straining. 

Nigh the desert's maivge she tumbles down, in foam 

and dust to hide her, 
Dead but half, the steed is made a breakfast by 

his hungry rider. 
East of Madagascar, lo, the morning sun appears 

in glory! 
Thus it is the king of beasts, at night, inspects his 

territorv. 



1+S GATHERIil) nV THE WAY. 



ADALISKIJT ^"<)^■ ("1IAMIS80. 



It is with a thrill of joj' that I approach this poet, also 
lielonging to the dass named — Young Germany. He was 
born in France, in 1781, and had to emigrate, swept away 
by that great hurricane, the Revolution of 1789. He 
settled at Berlin, and found a place as pageat Court, where 
Queen Louise, that most amiable and virtuous of all 
women (mother of Emperor William I.) held sway. This 
lady had a natural taste for art, and under her ej'es the 
young nobleman grew up to be a great bard. His first 
productions show his Komanisli extraction, but soon a 
change takes place. He possessed a natural faculty of 
mastering languages, and in his older days he spoke every 
dead and living tongue, except the Russian, which he 
shunned, because he hated the nation too much, on account 
of its barbarism, and considered it time lost to acquaint 
himself with the speech of such an idiotic people. 

If ever a man has succeeded in beinga follower of Christ, 
Chamisso is the one. We find in him a modesty unpar- 
alleled by any great character of ancient or modern times, 
a love and pity for the needy, and a read}' forgiveness for 
any injury done to his own person. His solicitude for his 
friends, as manifested in his collected letters, is something 
unknown in our frail race. 

Chamisso joined an expedition around the world in 1817, 
arranged by a Russian Duke Romanzoff, under Captain 
Kotzebue. He went as a scientist, paying his expenses out 
of his own pocket. This trip lasted about three years, 
during which time he visited the South Sea Islands 
and the Pacific coast. The trial to pass Behring 
Strait, as originally intended, had to be given up, 
on account of the leader's illness; but Chamisso was the 
first man who claimed that the sea was open toward th 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 149 

North pole, which proved to be perfectly true. He learned, 
on this voyage, to speak the tongue of the so-called "wild 
man," and afterwards wrote a grammar of the language 
spoken on the Sandwich Islands. He also translated songs 
of the aborigines on Tonga Islands. His curious story, 
"Peter Schlemihl," wherein he depicts a man of science 
giving up his worldly possessions to the poor, and wander- 
ing all over the world to hunt for plants ("hay," he calls 
it), is a picture of his own person. It has made the epithet 
"Schlemihl" proverbial in Germany. Chamisso died at 
Berlin in 1838, mourned by all who knew him and his 
works; that is to say, by all. 

The subjects of his poems are mostly selected for the pur- 
pose of thrilling the heart of the reader, but they are beau- 
tifully rendered into verse and show amasterhand. His 
lyrical poetry is full of intense feeling. The here following 
cycle of nine poems, "Woman's Love and Life," is univer- 
sally known, and forms a fair sample of his style. He 
ranges often as high as Goethe, but lacks the latter's dram- 
atic ability— a fault he shares with Heinrich Heine, his 
intimate friend. He tried his art also on a "Faust," and 
wrote a small piece by this name, which, though full of 
philosophical thought, does not equal Goethe's masterpiece, 
and is little known, but deserves to be, and will be found 
among these translations. 



loO GATHKRED UY THE WAY. 

W():max-s love and life. 
I. 

Since w<? met ea:cli other, 
Blind I seem to be; 
Where e'ei* I am lookinji, 
]lim alone I see. 
As in wakefnl dreams, be- 
Fore me stands his face, 
ilalces, where deep tlie iiloom is. 
Brio-liter look the space. 



Elsewhere all is rayless 
Under heaA'en's tent. 
Care not for mj' playmates' 
Dance and merriment. 
Kather to my closet 
I to weep wonld flee; 
Since we met each other 
Blind I seem to be. 

II. 

.He's the crown of all God's t)eings, — 
He's so mild; he is so kind! 
Lips so sweet, and eyes soi lovely; 
(rrent his heart, and clear his mind. 

As ()« the ev'niug sky yon nm-th star, 
Sending down his radiant light. 
Thus i.s he mine only stiirlight, — 
Far and high, and clear and bright. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 151 



AValk, oh, walk, thy heavenly circles; 
Let thy splendor but me see, 
Me in secrecy admire thee; 
Hapless, happy, let me be! 

Do not hear my daily prayers 
For thy bliss that offered are. 
Hidden be thy maiden's love dream, 
Hid from thee, mv I'adiaut star I 



If thou choose one, make her happy 
Who of ns the Tvorthiest; 
And I'll pray, the one thon'st chosen 
Be bv Heaven forever blessed. 



Glad I'll be, will weep in jirayer, 
Happy, happy, I will be. 
Slionld it rend mj heart asunder, — 
Break my heart, — Avho cares for me? 

III. 

T can't realize, comprehend it! 

Or has a dream me deceived? 

That me he could love 'mong the maidens 

I'ld never haA'e, never, believed. 



I dreamt that to me he had spoken: 

"I'm thine!" It hardly seems real. 

That he'd said: "Thou'rt mine now, forever!" 

Or is an iilusicm it still? 



152 GATHERED Uy THE WAY. 

Oh, let iiic ('xi)ire while I'm dreaming, 
While lestiiifi I am on his breast; 
Me terminate this poor bcino- 
In tears, while thus I am blessed! 



IV 



Thou ringlet on my finger, 
A pledge of his troth that art, 
I press to my lips thee tender; 
I press thee to my heart. 

The peaceable dreams of my childiiood 

Forever thej' were gone; 

I felt myself so deserted, 

In the boundless space so lone. 



Thou ringlet on my finger, 
'Twas thou that first me taught, 
'IVas thou that open'dst mine eyes for 
A life Avitli meaning fraught. 



I shall now serve him, my lover, 
And be forever his; 
My soul and body devote him, — 
Shall "loi-y in his bliss. 



Thou ringlet on my finger, 
A. pledge of his troth that art, 
I press to my lips thee tender; 
I press thee to my heart. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 1 ").'$ 

v. 

Come ye, good maidens, 

Come to adorn me, 

Lend me to-day yet yonr helping band. 

Keep yourselves bnsj^; 

Add to my headgear 

The evergreen myrtle's orna^ment. 

When, with the utmost 

Joy in my bosom, 

I in the arms of the loved one lay, 

Still he was restless, 

Still discontented, 

Longing for this, our great holiday. 

Help me, sweet maidens, 

Help ye me bamish 

The fear' of this bosom, this silliness! 

That I may face him, with 

Eyes full of gladness. 

Who is the source of my hapjjiness. 

Art thou, beloved one. 

Art thou arisen? 

Art thou, oh, daystar, sending thy rays? 

Let me in prayer. 

In deep, deep, devotion. 

Praise Him, the Lord, and His boundless grace! 

Hither bear rosebuds, 

Hither bring lilies, 

T' adorn him, my lover, with vernal bloom. 

Only one tear be yet 

Shed for ye, sisters, 

A'^'hen I depart from my parents' home. 



in-t GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

VI 

Sweet, my friend, thou gazest 
Wond'ring in mine eye; 
Canst not comprehend it, 
Why it is I cry. 

Let these trembling teaTdrops, 
111 mine eyes that shine, 
Be to thee a token 
Of a bliss divine. 

How full joy my bosom. 
Full anxiety! 
Could I onh^ words find 
How to tell it thee ! 
Come, and lay thy forehead 
On my bosom, here. 
That my heavenly bliss I 
Whisper in thine ear. 

I haA'e aslced my mother. 
Who is good and wise, 
'Bout some unwont symptoms. 
And she gave advice; 
Said it were judicious 
If thou go and hast 
Hither brought a cradle. 
For 'n arriving guest. 



ISlow, thou Icnowst my secret, 
Knowst the teairs I shed. 
Why shonldst thou not know th 
Loved one, whom I've wed? 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 155 

Let me hold thee, deiar, here, 
In a close embrace ; 
Feel my beating bosom; 
Let ]ne kiss thy face. 

Let the cradle stand here, 
Mine own beadstead nigh, 
Where my dream it hold may 
In still privacy. 
Come will soion the morning 
When it real will be; 
In it I thine image 
Smile at me shall see. 

VII. 

Oh, lie on my breast, be pressed to my heart. 
Thou babe, who my joy, my blessing, now art! 

Man's glee is his love, man's love is his glee, 
I always have said, and repeated it be. 

I thought I was happy and blessed before, 

But blessed I am now, and a. hundred times more! 

She alone loves her baby the truest, the best. 
Who feeds it with milk from her own tender breast. 

A mother alone tO' know able is 

What real love is, what true happiness. 

The poor, luckless man, he knows of no bliss; 
For to a mother-heart's joy a. stranger he is. 

Thou gazest, smilingly, into mine eyes, 
Beloved little Angel from Paradise! 



156 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Oh, lie on my breast, be press^ed to my heart, 
Thou babe, who my joy, my blessiug, now art! 

VIII, 

Thoii struckest me, oh, cruel one, 
A murtFrous blow! 

Of wrongs thy tirst ! My bliss is gone! 
Dead liest thou now! 

My life 's a dream; I stand forlorn 
On a barren shore. 
Mine earthly joy from me is torn; 
I breathe no more! 

Into mys-elf I now retire, 

Where veiled's my grief. 

There burns for thee 'n eternal fire; 

It's there I li^•e. 

IX. 

Dreams of early wifehooil, 
Past now many years,— 
Child of the beloved one, 
Who my features bears. 
Take, before the tired one 
To her rest thej lay, 
These, my words of blessing, 
Into life's green day. 

Seest my wrinkled forehead, 
Pale and withered face; 
Was once, as thou now art. 
Fair and full of lirace; 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 157 



Loved, as tliou art loving, 
Was a bride as thou; 
And tlioii ,too, wilt wither, 
Be as I am now. 

May the time, however. 
Fly on eagle wings; 
In ihj breast alive keep 
Virtue's crj^stal springs! 
"V'^'hat T oince have said, nor 
iSliall retract, is this: 
"Happiness man's love is; 
Love his only bliss!" 

When the one I'd wedded 
T'his last rest I boie, 
Love in my breast I cherished, 
Such as dies no more. 
Though my heart waiS broken, 
Stronger was my will; 
leader age's ashes 
Love supreme is still. 

Take, before the tired one 
To her rest thej' lay, 
'J'liese last words of blessing 
Into life's green day. 
Should thy heart be breaking, 
Lose thy courage not; 
Be thy love's great sorrow 
Then thy «w-eetesit lot. 



158 GATHICKEI) BY THE WAY. 

CHAMISSO'S FAUST. 

Introduction. 

With the renewal of philosophical investigations in the 
middle of the last century in German}-, caused mainly b}' 
Immanuel Kant, several writers of renown seized on the 
legend of Faust to express their ideas about the Universe, 
and the position the human being occupies in it ; and thus 
four poems by this name are extant, the most noted one by 
Goethe. Onr modest and amiable bard wrote the following 
drama (he calls it a trial) in 1803. In rendering it into 
English, the most simple words were used, the subject itself 
being difficult enough from its nature. 

Dramatis Personae: — Faust and two Spirits. 
(Faust's study, a dim light burning.) 
Faust. 
Thy 3'Oiitli's slioi't days forever uoaa- are passed, 
Thy days trf A'ig'rous manhood by gone, Faust; 
And tow'rds thy night life's sun is swiftly moving, 
Say, didst thou live? A stranger in this world 
Thou wert; thou spendedst thy scant hours in 

dreams ; 
Thou longedst for truth; thou strov'st with pygmy 

strength 
T' accomplish giant t^isks. What silly acts! 

Oh, thou Avhom I in revels see indulging, 
Not minding what the future, what thyself. 
Nor wliat the Universe which thee envii'ons. 
But pleasure knowst, and pleasure carest to 

kniow, — 
Contented fav'rite of the passing hour! 
As thou art hap]\v, Avise 1 aui bound to call thee. 
A sage? A fool? They're names withoiit a mean- 
ing. 
There are but sick ones, and I know no fools. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 159 

A spark did glimmer in my breast, a hand 
liy me unknown had phmted there; it blazed, 
And caused this thirst for Truth I cannot quench. 
Thou AU-produoer, Thine alone the fault is! 
Thou madest us striA'e. We have to strive! We 

have to? 
•Am I not free then? Am a will-tilled stone, 
That falls to ground, and only feels — it wills- 

What else art Thou, oh, gTeedy All-embracer, 
Thou dauntless Suitor of the Universe, 
Who blind, in gloom, in a double night incessant, 
To grope is forced, ixnahle aught to know, 
'N eternal unsolved riddle to Thyself? 
Creator, Thou, of Thine own world, accioffding 
To timeless laws, Thyself by her created, — 
What art Thou, pow'rf ul, feeble worm of clay ? 
Art Thou a God in fetters? Art Thou du,st? 
What is Thy thoughts', what is Thy senses', world? 
What is the all-encircling Space, the Time? 
What their creatioms, causing their existence? 
And what, beyond them, is the Infinite? 
AVhat is the Deity, yoin endless chain's 
Uncompirehended, first and genuine link, 
Which, borne by none, does bear all links herself? 
A semblaince only — shadow — everything is! 
Mine inner light its fant'sdas throws on an 
Expanded night, that's outside of myself, — 
A. void, unreal reflection of my being, — 
And thus a world is made I understand. 
May be that Chance has thus a.iu*anged this 

thing, — 
That great Creator whom they call "Divine." 
But if, by thoughts, Avhat body, soul, or God is 
I do not comprehend, how then? 'Tis vain! 



GATHERED IIV THE WAY. 



There step bctwet'ii myself ami them the lies 
Of iiiiiie <y\\n si'iisfs, — Keelson's iron laws. 

l"]teriial riddles, ye, oil, pois'uous serpents, 

\\lio*»e lieads aire steadily gi-owing, steadily die; 

Whoi, by the eniel play of birth and deatli 

Of these dire questions, rend my heart asurwler, — 

I caimot banish ye, cannot sin]>in-ess, 

yp restless istoi-m against thislearful bosom! 

Woe him whom ye to earnest strife a.ronsed! 

A wrinkletl foirehead is the thinker's lot; 

His worry's recompense is naught but Doubt. 

But no moire shall this seqient tooth of Doubt — 

A poison slow — gnaw at my sult'ring lieaj-t; 

Xo more aiigment the buniing of my bosom. 

I shall recovea- in the rays of Truth, 

And reach, with siwift resolve, the heaven-high 

goal. 
Ton which mine eyes so long were vainly gazing. 

(He unfolds a magical scroll lying before him on the 
table, and, pointing at it, continues :) 

If these no dreams are thou havst penciled here, 
1 safely follow thy gigantic track. 
Oh, Seer, and, fearless walk thy beaten i>ath. 
If ghosts, thy mighty summons hearing, did 
Arise from siouibi-e Lethe's shoreless river, 
Tke Inferno's Spirits Avlll my call also 
Obey, and come to offer me assistance. 

( Conjuration.) 

Ye, Who in subterranean darkness dwell, 
And now my striving soul encii'cle, Ghosts, — 
Ye hear vour master's earnest call, — appear! 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. Ifil 

Evil Spirit— (voice to the left) . 

Thy poAv'rful sumnioius I have lieard, and come 
Thou sou of earth, nrjw free of ea.rtL, a« we, and 
As M-e, imiuoi-ta] ! Speak, what is thy wish? 

Good Sp/r/t— (voice to the right). 
Faust! Faust! 

Faust. 

Thou, too? I did not call for Thee. Avaunt' 
I want to free myself of Thy ha,rd yoke- 
Therefore retire! Not, Thou, oh, feeble'spirit, 
My burning bosom's thirst to quench art able 
Noa- soothe the rolling waves that fill my breast 
My rising wings Thou paralyzest long. Begone ! 
I wish to soar 'moug stars, and fearless fly " 
Therefore, I Thee have left, and follow Him 
^\ho is my teacher,— Truth me gives, a,nd Knowl- 
edge. 

Evil Sp/r/t— (impressively). 

Thou utterst words sublime aud superhuman 
With manly will, myself thou'st summoned hither 
Now SAveaT the prize I ask : Thv soul be mine 
And I shall yield to thee the Truth's rich treasure 
-And all a man is able thou shalt know. 

Good Spirit. 

Faust! Faust! 
To man, who was happy, 
Our Father permitted 
To taste. from the apples 
Wliich grew in His Eden; 
To man, wlio was happy. 



1B2 GATiUiKEO IIY THE WAY. 

Our Lord and Creator 

Forbado of them oue. 

I>eft'itfnl, then, the Berpeut to him spoke : ' 

"Like God Himself, immortal thou wilt be 

If thou dare touch the fruit magnificent, 

The one to pluck thy Maker thee forbade. 

He is thj- Father not, — an envious Tyrant!" 

Fa.u«t! Faust! 

For him who is child-like 

The pleasures of a lifetime 

Aw numberless budding; 

He bideis where sweet roses 

Theii' fragranee him offer, 

Whea'e fruit him does beckon. 

That he might be able 

To walk over thorn-roads 

With footsteps light-winged. 

The Heaven has given him 

Two friendly coaupanions,-;— 

Gave Hope and Belief him, — 

To aid him when Fortune is changing. 

Faust! Faust! 

The Infinite to foi'bode, thy Father gave 

A soul thee, gave a heart, 

That thou to love, to supplicate, be able; 

And yet tO' argue with thy Lord thou dar'st, 

AVhile rays Paternal on thy temples shine. 

Thou dar'st to crave yofu fruit, the fruit of Death. 

Thou dar'st despise thy life's sweet peace and 

ti'easures. 
Thou dar'sit aspire to God's unapproachable Great- 
ness. 
Oh, fear the Avenger, Who Avill punish sin! 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. Jyo 

Faust. 
Did me a God of hate create for tortures 
Unspeakable, Who loves to see me suffer? 

Good Spirit. 

Did not the flow'rs of joy adorn thy pathway? 

F,-iust. 
I knwv no other happiness than Knowledge. 

Good Spirit. 

Does Hope not grow for snff'rers? Learn to live 
Without 't. 

Faust. 
In this sick breast Hope's withered long. 

Good Spirit. 

Then Vii'tue's wreath be wound arromnd thy locks. 

Faust. 
My Virtue's chaplet Doubt has also torn. 
Good Spirit. 

Thou wishest, striv'st, and thus th v. blossoms 
fade, 

Faust. 
I then but choose my lot, the lot of sorrow. 

Good Spirit. 

Thou art still free, oh, Faust. Act, a,ct believing! 

Faust. 

I an not free, nor wish I fi^ee to be. 

Good Spirit 

Oh, then the faulit will be the malefactor's! 

F/iiist. 
The sin amd fault T lay on niv Creator' 
Too high endowed H*^ has, ha,s pressed too low, me 
And gave me, in His hate, this striving soul 



104- GATHEKED BY THE WAY. 

Good Spirit. 

And giave alvSio a Avill thee, to subdue it. 

The Avenger's rod will strike the sinner's brow! 

Faust. 

Thou Spii-it of Ivovonge, Thoii awful Being, 

Who noncomniitted sins dost retaliate, 

The bosom's meditations punishest. 

And wdndest aiTOund my soul Thy snakes infernal, 

But still 'n undaunted man's strong will not 

shakest, — 
I call Thee Liar! Xo, I am not free. 
A heavy destinj- miles o'er my life. 
It oaii'ies me along without resistence, 
And heavy falls on me its cruel weight. 

Evil Spirit — (willi subdued voice). 

The false One feigns to be thy saving Spirit. 

Faust. 

My saving Spirit Thou but feignst to be. 
A vaunt! I want Thee not. I Him do follow; 
He is my teacher, — Truth me gives, and Knowl- 
edge. 

Evil Spirit. 

Then sweai', oh, Faust, tliat I shall have my prize, 
.\nd Truth's ricih treaisure I to thee 8ha;ll yield. 
And all a man is able thou shalt knoiw; 
Tliyself tlie Judgment Staff break o'er thy soul. 

(The Staff of Judgment is thrown by magic before him. 
He is startled, but soon again composes himself.) 

Faust. 

Thou dauntless Will, — a sudden resolution's 
Offspring, — bring forth the deed at once! 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. ] 65 

Good Spirit. 

Such deeds 
As in the timei to come pi-odiice bad fruit 
Be only dome aigaiaist thine injcLinatiou. 
As yet thy heart is masiter o'ei- thy will, Faust ! 

Evil Spirit.— {with subdued voice and slovvl}-.) 

And I shall yield to thee the Truth's rich treasure, 

And all a m,an is able thou shalt know. ' 
Faust. 

My Will is lord yet! Think, resolve, and act. 
Good Spirit. 

And didst thou dare to think the thought, o'h Faust! 

The great, the awful thoug'ht of the "Hei-eafter?" 
Faust. 

I thought ,of it; but nnoments only do 

Belong to man, and in the presient lives he. 

Therefore, he often buys, with future's values, 

The transiient joys ajid pleasures of the hour. 

May be the Hereafter's ailso but a dream. 

Good Spirit. 
And if yoai dream the Truth does indicate? 

Faast. 
The horrible di-eam may tlieu itself develop. 
Thou whetst Thyself the pois'nous tooth of Doubt 
That la^ierates my breast. No Truth can break 
A heart that beats for Truth alone, Thou Spirit! 
But fearful only are the suff'rings I feel mow. 
Them I must end! Of steel this bosom's made, 
And every woe's sharp arrow ou't rebounds 
That is not aimed at me by Doubt's strong arm. 

I shall as a man await Eternal "S^'eugeauce, 

With fearless eye look istraight into Her face. 

I curse Thee, curse the Lord, and break this Staff 

Of Judgment, that my soul forever binds. 



166 GA'rHi;Ki-;i) uy the way. 

Good Spirit. 

Woe him avIio's boni of a woman! 

Woe him! Xoav broken man's pride is! 

Hni'led doAvn he is headlong. 

His fall Avill I'e-echo 

Wlien, dashed into fragments, he sinks. 

"I'lie son of the mortal 

O'er meadows may wander; 

His ej-es be delighted 

By flow'rs of the vale ! 

He dare not to raise them 

To lieights that are blinding, — 

To the Sun's fieiy beam. 

From tiliie dre-ss of the verdure, 

Displayed over valleys. 

The color returns t' him 

A beautiful ray; 

He wshoiild be contented 

With soft-shining tints, 

And ougii/t not to turn them, 

His heai't's eager wishes. 

To the sky's golden light. 

Attempts he to climb uj) 

The snow-covered mountains. 

To be neai' th,e lire-globe, — 

The hot-biirning sun, — 

Not neiarei' he'll be it. 

His eyes are but blinded. 

His feet only stagger, 

He soon's overcome. 

From the summit, the dizzy, 

Hurled down he i« headlong. 

His fall does re-echo 

When, dashed into fragnunits, he sinks. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 167 

Woe liiim, the son of a mortal! 

Woe, hiui! Xoav broken liis pride is. 

To love's sweet embraces 

Forever a stranger, — 

He tlees, and is falling. 

Hnrled down lie is headlong; 

The deep does re-echo . 

When, daislied into fragments, he sinks. 

Fai/st— (breaking tlie Staff). 

The Staff I've broken! 

Good Spirit. 

It is broken! ' 

Evil Spirit. 



Broken ! 



(A long pause.) 



'Kow? 



Faust. 



Evil Spirit. 



I look at thee with scorn, thon fragile toy, at 
The greedy wishes of thine o'erprond heart. 
I laugh at thee, oh, fool, whom I despise, 
And pay the prize for which tlion'st pledged thy 
sonl ! 

The human wisdom's limit is tlie Doubt, 
Wliich only blind belief can overstep. 
I hereby cha.rge thee t'err on a storm-to«s?d sea, 
AYithout an anchor and a sail, wliere neither 



1G8 GATHKRKI) I)V THE WAV 

A sliore nor veiniant ilse to thee appears; 

Where tliou, without a hoi>e, shalt strive and stay 

Until befoire thine awestruck eyes the gate 

Of Death, thy mind foreboded has, is opened; 

Where fearful toi'tures, hori'ible to think of. 

On thee will seize, For unto me the future 

Of thine immortal self belongs. It's thus 

I pay the prize for which thou'st pledged thy soul! 

The flowei' of Belief for thee was budding. 

Thon ppondly ti'eadst on it; thou wantedst Truth. 

XoAv thou shalt hear what I thee, threat'ning, 

teach. 
Out of thy sages' contradictious shone a ray 
Thee telling wliat thy heart was loug aware of: 
The Doubt is humaji wisdom's limit. Naught 
Can he who's formed of dust beyond it know, — 
Not realize what's liglit who blind is born. 

As is the language, as the sound of words, 
A medium only, and a sign of tliought, 
Thus is tlie impress on thy senses, "Thought" 
Itself, but language, — an unmeaning sign 
Of real'ty, from thee foi'ever hidden. 
Thou canst but think by it, — the medium, "Lan- 
guage." 
Canst Nature only see by means of "Senses." 
Canst only know her by the law of "Rea.son." 
And hadst thou thousand senses, stampedst thou 
Thy thought, thou scant-endowed mortal, more 

deep 
Into the more on thee impressing All, 
Thou shouldst, still tied to Earth by bodily ties, 
Though self a unit, naught but shadows see 
Of thine own soul, and naught shouldst know that's 
real. 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 1'39 

T© strive with vigor is tlie lot of man; 
To recognize, alone tlie Spirits' province. 
Not them embraces the eternal wall 
That thee from her, the longed-for TYuth, debars. 
Thy death this wall removes, and thie Avenger 
For thee is waiting in a place where there is 
No more of striving, is no moire aspiring; 
Where tliou wilt be i-'ewarded for past acts. 

I must repeat thine own words' empty sounds, — 

A picture draw of thine own shadowy thoughts. 

Thj sages' idle dreams I must re-echo — 

A Spirit, I — to be thee, mortal, nearer. 

No thoughts, no words, nor dreams of earth-born 

beings 
Can know a semblance of the Eternal-Hidden; 
I-Sut thou for IVuth, for Truth, has pledged thy so'ul, 
And thou shalt know what man to know is able. 

The human wisdom's limit, lo, is Doubt, — 
The terrible, th' avenging Serpent of thy life. — 
Despair, thou low-bom worm of clay, whom I 
Into lower dust rehurl, and tread upon! 
Thou hast no pow'r to raise you hiding veil; 
For thee the flow'r of life is no more blowing; 
And unto me thou'st given up thy future. 
Thus, vengeful, yield I thee the Truth's rich treas- 
ure. 
Pay thee the prize Avhich, for thy pledge, I prom- 
ised. 

Faust — (just intending to throw himself down on the 
side where the Evil Spirit spoke, rises quickly again). 

Not shalt behold Thou me before Thee prostrate, 
Tliou Herald of the fearful cunse pronounced, 
That flashes 'r'ound my head. Nor will I bow 



170 GATHERED BY THE WAY. 

Before The otliea' One! "Destruction" is 

The name of Him I call. Both ye are pow'ness 

To rob me of tbe wealth my past acquired. 

Oh, conlid yoiw cm'se I but return t' ye tenfold, 

Could see ye wiTtlie in woes that never cease, 

In humian agonies ye s>ee despair, 

And with a scornful laugh make fun of ye! 

A curse on me, that I so feeble am, — 

That but the lips' low trembling voice, wliose 

sounds 
In th' air are drowned, I have to answer with! 

Thou cherished stimulatressof mine idle dreams, — 
Oh, Truth ! I f ollors'ed have Tby mi^ty form ; 
I followed tireless Tbee on trackless roads; 
I sacrificed for Thee each ray of hope. 
A shipwrecked man I stamd here, om steep rock; 
Around me rolls a dark and shoreless sea, 
And o'ei' ray foreliead threatening clouds are gath- 
ered ; 
And never, never, shall I her behold 
For whom I've given up my sweetest tJ'easure! 

Evil Spirit — ( si o wly ) . 

Thy death, removes this wall, and the Avenger 
For thee is waiting in a place where tliere is 
No more of striving, is no more aspiiing; 
Where thou Avilt be rewarded for paist acts. 

Faust. 

My death removes the wall ! The Avenger waits in 
Yon land! Medusa of my life, wherever 
Mine eye is turned, I see thj^ dreadful stare! 
Perdition and Eternity, ye're welcome, 
If what I suffea- only be not "Doubt." 



GATHERED BY THE WAY. 171 

Keep nsow Thy promise, and tear clown Thy wall, 

TJion liid Avenger. Be my only Savior! 

I long for Thee, and follow Thee with courage. 

(As he turns toward the Evil Spirit, a dagger is thrown 
by magic into his hand. He presses it against his breast, 
and falls.) 

Perdition, Thon, .Eternal, in Thy lap! 
Destruction it may be; may be it's Knowledge; 
Su roly, Oertai nty ! 

(Faust expires. The scene is darkening; the lamp ex- 
tinguishes; and the curtain drops.) 



172 GATHERED ItV THE WAY. 



LA HATE. 

-A Trial In French. 

hatez vous, sans peur, 
Votre partie de prendre; 

Car dejji va descendre 
La vie de son hauteur. 

Jeunesse se precipite, 

Et vous verrez la suivre ■ 

L'amour, — devrez survivre 
De votre coeur le guide. 

Ouoi ? Vous negligez 

Fortune? Vous voulez 'tendre 
Jusqu'a I'age,— pretendre 

Plutot la corriger? 

La fleur, quand elle encore 
Est jeune, elle doit fleurir; 

Printemps bientot va perir, — 
Et I'hiver, c'est la morti 



THE OPEN WINDOW. 

By Henry W. Longfellow. 

(Translntion.) 

Dort oben am Hiigel die Villa, 

Schaut still und verlassen zumal; 
Unter'm Baum', aufdem Kiesweg, nurspielt noch 

Mit dem Schatten der Sonnenstrahl. 

Die Fenster im obersten Zimnier 

Steh'n often; sie zeigen es leer; 
Und die frischen Kindergesichtchen, 

Die seb' ich darin audi nicht mebr. 



GATHERED BV THE WAY. 173 

Vor der Thiir steht wedelnd der Hausliund, — 

Ein Pudel mit glanzendem Haar; 
Er sucht nach deii jungen Gespielen, 

Doch heute vermisst er das Paar. 

Er findet sie nicht in der Halle, 

Anch nicht im Schatten des Baum's; 
Ach, diist're Trauer und Stille 

Erftillt jeden Winkel des Raum's. 

Der Vogel pfeift ruhig sein Liedchen, 

Wie sonst, auf dem scli-wankenden Zweig; 

Die Stirnnie aber deir Kinder 

Tont nur nocli im himnilischen Reicli. 

Und er, der neben mir wandelt, 

Der Knabe verstelit es noch nicht, 
Weshalb meine zitternde Hand sich 

So eng nm die seinige flicht. 



HERRN A. STEINLEIN. 

Dem alten Musenkinde in La Crosse als Empfangsbescheinifrung 

Die Geisteskinder, die Du mir gesandt. 
Hast, Alter, Du, bescheidentlich genannt: 
"A. Steinlein's Bunte BKithen, zweiter Band." 
Und so empfing sie dankbar meine Hand. 

Doch sieh', die Bliithen sind nnr schon im Mai, 
Und schon im Sommer sind sie welkes Heu; 
Plugs zieht an tins ihr Duft und Glanz vorbei 
Und wird ein eitel Spiel des Wind's — wird Spreu. 

Die schonen Verse die Dein Geist gebar, — 
Ein Werk des jungen Kopf s mit weissem Haar,- 
Sie iiberdauern manches, manches Jahr, 
Wenn langst wir ruhen auf der Todtenbahr'. 



174 GATHKKEO UV THE WAV. 

Sag', Alter, an, wo sprudelt denn die Quelle, 
Aus der das Schone stromt so sonnenhelle, 
Wohin ein frommer, musendienender Geselle 
Entging' des Schicksals sturmgepeitschter Welle? 

Oder soil ein jiingerer Apollokneclit 
Entsagen ganz und gar dem schonen Recht 
Entstammt zu diinken sich dem Gottgeschlecht, — 
Liest Verse er, so lebenswahr und echt ? 

[August 10, 1890, St. Paul.] 



EIN TRIBUT 

Fur A. Stelnlein, von La Crosse. 

Dir kehre mit dem neuen Jahrc, — 
Apollo's Sohn mit weissem Haare, — 
Ein Leben voller Ruhe ein. 
Dir sei ein hokles Loos beschieden, 
Denn eines Kindes siissen Fricden 
Birgst Du in Deines Herzens Schrein. 

Ein Held bist Du ! An Deiner Stirne, 

Wie an der Andes' eis'ger Firne, 

Zerschellt der Leidenschaften Macht. 

So stehst Du da und ragst zum Himmel, — 

Ein Leuchtthurm, wie nach Sturmsgetiimmel 

Er freundlich uns vom Ufer lacht. 

Und wjihrend uns, die AUtagsleute, 
Yerfolgt der Wiinsche gier'ge Meute, 
Thronst, Alter, Du auf dem Parnass; 
Und schaust still lachelnd auf uns nieder, 
Und spinnst und singst vielstimm'ge Lieder, 
Und schliirfst Dir Frohsinn aus dem Glas. 
[January 1, 1891.] 



